That Which Was Lost
by a.lakewood
Summary: A twist on events that shows how one little difference can change the outcome of everything. WINCEST. COMPLETE!
1. Chapter 1

**Title:** That Which Was Lost...[1/?]  
**Author:** alakewood  
**Warnings:** AU; semi-graphic violence. Spoilers for _Pilot_ and _Dream a Little Dream of Me_.  
**Word count:** 2800  
**Rating:** PG-13  
**Summary:** After John Winchester's wife is murdered, he goes in search of the thing responsible. His search leads him to Bill Harvelle and Bobby Singer. Dean goes to live with Bobby's wife while Sam stays with Bill's wife, Ellen. Most of this story you probably already know. This is just a twist on events, one that shows how one little difference can change the outcome of everything.  
**Disclaimer:** As always, I own nothing.

**oxoxo**

_December 1983_

It was a week past Thanksgiving when John Winchester crossed the Nebraska border, his two young boys asleep in the backseat of his Impala. It had been one month since Mary, his wife, had been murdered in Sammy's nursery. Screaming and flames, and he couldn't explain it, what he saw.

One month of tireless searching and all he had was a single lead. Barely a lead. Just a guy that said he knew somebody who knew somebody whose wife was killed in "just about nearly the same matter." Last the guy knew, his friend's friend had headed for some roadhouse in Nebraska – apparently there were folks out there that dealt with "that weird, crazy, supernatural shit."

The roadhouse was just off a highway, just off I-80; a lonely building with brightly lit windows. Something about seeing it there – in that specific place with nothing else for miles – made John feel hope for the first time since he lost Mary.

The Impala protested only slightly as he turned down the snow-drifted drive and into the last snow-free space outside the roadhouse. Dean, his eldest son, stirred in the backseat.

"Where are we, Daddy?" he questioned with a yawn.

John reached behind him, ruffled Dean's hair. "Nebraska. I'm gonna run in here quick, okay? I'm gonna see if somebody can help me. Then we'll go find a nice motel, all right, dude?"

Dean's eyes were half-close, a small smile on his face, still lost in the warmth of sleep. Deep breath, deep sigh, "'Kay, Daddy."

"I'll leave the car on, but make sure Sammy doesn't get cold, okay? You know how he likes to kick the blanket off."

"'Kay, Daddy." Dean reached an arm over Sammy's legs, keeping them and the blanket and Sam's legs still. "I'll take care of Sammy."

"That's a good boy."

**oxo**

When John entered the roadhouse, all conversation died down as the few patrons there – the die-hard regulars, John had to presume, based on the foot or so of snow outside and the roadhouse's remote location – turned their focus toward him. John smiled good-naturedly, nodding at them as he passed, heading towards the bar where a weary looking woman stood drying beer mugs with a white towel. She eyed him subtly. "Can I help you?"

"I hope so." John ran a hand over his face. "I'm looking for somebody." And _that_ wasn't vague at all. "Um, somebody that knows about...things."

The woman cast a quick glance over John's shoulder. "What kinds of _things_?"

"The weird kind, ma'am. Look, I don't know how to ask this. I'm not ever sure why I'm here." He sighed. "My wife died. She was murdered. Killed by some..._thing_."

A man had sidled up to John's left, setting his empty mug down and sliding towards the woman. "Bill Harvelle," he said, offering a hand as he nodded at the bartender. "And my wife, Ellen."

John shook his hand. "John Winchester."

"How, exactly, did your wife die?"

He closed his eyes and sighed. "This is going to sound crazy. Bat-shit crazy." He looked at Ellen. "In a fire. She was _pinned_ to the ceiling."

"Do you have an infant child?" Bill asked, eyes flitting to Ellen.

John was shocked. "Y-yes. She died in his nursery."

"Where is he now?"

"In the car, with my other son."

Bill paused as if deep in thought. "How long ago?"

"A month."

"Look, John, I know a few guys that are huntin' this bastard. Nobody's seen it and lived to tell. I think you should stick around for awhile."

"He's right," Ellen agreed. "It'd be safest for you and your kids."

"El, go set up the guest room and I'll help John, here, round up his kids and whatnot."

"I'm not sure..." John began, only to be interrupted by Bill.

"Look, if you wanna find this thing – and I think you do – you're gonna want to stick around. These guys have been tracking this demon – well, _trying_ to track it."

"_Demon?_" And John had thought he'd be received as delirious.

"I'll explain it all to you later. Let's bring your boys in out the cold."

**oxo**

_336 hours (two weeks) of research later_

The phone behind the bar rang, a sudden loudness in the silence of the closed roadhouse. It was enough to startle Sammy, John could hear the whimpers starting from a room away. He went to tend to Sam as Bill got up to get the phone as it rang a second time.

"It's Bobby," he told Ellen. "He's got news."

"Where is he?"

"Scottsbluff. He'll be here in forty-five."

John reentered the back room, Sam cradled to his chest. "So?"

"Bobby. He's got info."

**oxo**

"Look," Bobby said again, taking his cap off to scratch his head, the thinning hair sticking in awkward angles. He pulled the hat back on. "It wasn't after your wife, it was after your _son_. I've found four other cases in the Midwest, same m.o. On the kid's sixth month birthday, the mother is killed. _Two_ cases where the whole family is burned alive, all remains accounted for _except_ those of the kid – which tells me that the kid survived. This is gonna keep happening."

"Unless we stop it," Bill said dejectedly, glancing at John.

John's mouth opened, closed. He shook his head. "I want to help – I do. But my boys. I can't risk 'em."

"I'll watch them, John. Don't you worry," Ellen said, patting his arm reassuringly.

"I think," Bill started, "I think it might be best to keep them separate – I mean, in case something _does_ happen. If it comes after Sam again, you don't want to lose Dean, too."

John looked torn; the idea of splitting them up... But Bill had a point. He'd just lost his wife, did he want to lose both of his boys, too? "You're right," he admitted quietly. "But who else?"

"Maura," Bobby offered. "My wife."

And then it was decided. Sam would stay with Ellen while Dean went to Bobby's in South Dakota.

**oxo**

John, Bobby, and Bill left shortly after Christmas, heading for Billings, Montana, where there'd been a report of a fire resulting in the death of the mother of an infant. Aside from random drop-ins when they were nearby, the men didn't return to Harvelle's for any extended period of time until the Fourth of July.

John had missed Dean's fifth birthday and Sam's first, and he was taken aback at how much his sons had grown. He'd missed out on so much.

Ellen had greeted him with a warm, one-armed hug, Sam hefted on her hip. "Do you want to go to your dad?" she asked Sam, smiling encouragingly.

Sam just clung to her shoulder, small mouth turned into a quivering frown.

"Oh, come on, honey. Go to Daddy." She leaned him towards John.

His tiny fingers dug into her back and chest as he strained to hold on. "Nonono!"

"It's all right, Ellen. He doesn't remember me." John could barely conceal his anguish that Sam - _Sammy_, who loved to snuggle right into the crook of John's neck and nap contentedly for hours – was afraid of him.

"John," she said sadly, cradling Sam against her.

"It's okay."

"Daddy!" Dean exclaimed, tugging at the hem of John's overshirt.

John grinned, swooping Dean up in his arms. "Hey there, dude. How are you?"

"I'm okay," Dean nodded. He glanced at Sam and wrapped his arms protectively around John's neck. "I missed you. Are you coming home?"

"For a little while."

"Awesome."

John grinned at that, hugging Dean tightly, repeating, "Awesome."

**oxo**

By the end of the two week vacation, Sam had warmed up enough to John that he'd let John hold him. There was a difference between them that John could feel, a rift. And when he handed Sam over to Ellen as he and Bill prepared to head out again, Sam went willingly; he didn't clutch and cry like he had the first time. It broke John's heart, but he knew it was for the best.

"Say goodbye to your brother," John told Dean.

Dean looked up at him disbelievingly, eyebrows arched high, eyes wide. "He's not my brother."

"Dean."

The five-year-old looked at him like he was crazy. "He's not," Dean said simply as he started for the roadhouse's back door.

John and Ellen shared a glance, and Bill kissed his wife goodbye.

**oxo**

_September 1984_

Two things happened as the heat of the summer started to wane. Ellen learned that she was pregnant – she and Bill were going to be parents! And Maura believed that someone or some_thing_ was watching the house.

The day after Bill received his joyous news, Bobby got a panicked phone call from his wife.

"Bobby?" was the harsh whisper into the receiver. "Bobby, I'm scared."

He could hear the fear and unshed tears in her voice. "It's okay, honey, you're all right. What's going on?"

"I think there's something out there."

"Where?"

"The field."

"I'm sure it's nothing."

A small sob escaped her mouth. "Dammit, Bobby. Something's _out there._ The dogs just sit on the porch and whine. They _know_."

Bobby was silent for a long moment. "How long?"

"A few days, maybe a week."

"Where's Dean?"

"He's here. I don't let him out of my sight, won't let him outside. Please come home, Bobby." Desperately, "_Please?_"

"Yeah. Yeah, of course. I'll be there by morning."

**oxo**

True to his promise, dawn was breaking as Bobby's truck fishtailed up the gravel drive to his house. Nothing looked out of the ordinary. If anything, it all looked perfect – looked like home. He took the porch steps two at a time, crossed the deck in two strides, and threw the door open. "Maura?" he called. "Maura!"

John found her in the living room, standing in the middle of the floor, head cocked to the side curiously. "Where is that sweet boy?" she asked Bobby, face serene. "He doesn't want to come out and play."

Bobby was confused. "Maura? Honey? You okay?"

A dreamy smile was all the response he got. "He's hiding, the naughty boy."

Perfect on the outside, all wrong on the inside. Bobby backed up to the doorway. "Maura, come here."

A slight nod and she obliged, stopping suddenly with a jerk at the edge of the area rug. The calm look on her face dissolved into rage. "You think you can hold me? There'll be others coming, and you'll all die! You'll see. Every last one of you, sacrificed like the animals you are."

Bobby knew how to hunt, kill. But possessions? Nothing. Well, outside of that a Devil's Trap could contain a demon. But that had been a safety precaution of Bill's concerning Dean. Bill was the one who knew about possessions. Bobby didn't know what to do, how to get his wife back. "Maura."

"I can't wait 'til I get outta here. That boy? His blood will be sweet. I'll make you a deal – bring me the child and you can go free."

"No!"

"Then you can watch while I eviscerate him and suck the marrow from his bones."

That was all it took. Just that little bit of provocation, and Bobby went over. The blade of his knife sang as he withdrew it from its sheath and Maura screamed as Bobby thrust the knife into her chest once, twice, three times.

She crumpled to the floor as black smoke seeped from her mouth and disappeared down the hallway.

The knife clattered to the carpet and Bobby dropped to his knees beside Maura's body. He turned her over, hand trembling as he stroked her face. "M-maura? Honey?"

Her sightless eyes stared up at the ceiling, focused on some point behind Bobby's head.

"Bobby?" a tiny, fearful voice called out.

"Dean!" Bobby rushed out of the living room, pulling the door closed behind him. "Where are you, son?"

The boy came running down the stairs so fast that Bobby was sure he'd trip and tumble the rest of the way down. Dean's face was red and sweaty, streaked with tears and snot. "Bobby!" Dean's arms wrapped around his neck and held tightly. Bobby held on to him just as desperately, lifting him off the floor.

"What happened kiddo?"

Dean shook his head. "I don't know. Maura was scared. She told me to go hide and hide real good."

"Did she say why?"

"There was something that wanted to come in. She said it was bad and that I was s'posed to hide and wait for you."

"You're a very good boy for staying put."

"Where's Maura?"

Bobby didn't want to lie to him, but he couldn't tell him the truth, either. "I'm not sure, kiddo. Why don't we go find your dad, huh?"

Dean nodded. "'Kay."

"Just wait on the porch for me for a couple minutes, all right? I've gotta make a call."

**oxo**

After Maura's death, Bobby took some time to himself. Just left Dean with Bobby and Bill and said, "Sorry. I can't."

Bobby had to wonder if this demon wasn't after Dean instead. Nothing had happened to Ellen, nothing possessed _her_. Then again, he guessed it could be argued that whatever was after Sam was just picking off everybody helping to protect him.

And he knew it wasn't John's fault, as much as he wanted to blame him. It was his own. He was the one who'd offered up his wife to watch Dean. There was just no way he could've known what could happen because of it.

**oxo**

_May, 1985_

Bill and John had returned at the beginning of April, just before Ellen gave birth to Joanna Beth.

John tried to stay out of the way of the happy family, which now included _his_ son. His heart had dropped the first time he'd seen Ellen pull Sam into her lap and help him cradle Jo in his arms and heard her tell him, "See? Your sister's not scary, is she?"

Sam had blushed a little, admitting, "No." Then, "She's small."

John had excused himself and taken Dean for a walk.

**oxo**

The day after Sam's second birthday, John and Bill got a call about poltergeists in Omaha. Bill kissed his wife, kissed the top of his daughter's head, and ruffled Sam's hair. "We'll be back in a few days, all right?"

When Sam said, "Bye, Daddy," he wasn't talking to John.

The drive to Omaha was tense, even Dean sensing the strain in the silence.

Once there, John leaned into the backseat. "Sit tight, kiddo. This shouldn't take too long. Two hours, tops." He gave Dean a reassuring smile.

Dean grinned back, revealing the gap where he'd recently lost a tooth, thankful that John wasn't mad at him, too. "Okay, Dad."

But when John returned, he was alone and bloody.

"Where's Uncle Bill?" he asked. The look in John's eyes when their eyes met in the rearview mirror told Dean more than he should've been able to comprehend as a six-year-old. "He's not coming back."

**oxo**

Dean could hear the yelling, the screaming and the crying, from the Impala. He buried his face in the seat not wanting to hear Ellen's wailing. "You never come back here, John Winchester. _Never!_"

John's face was flushed when he got in the car. "Come on up here, Dean."

Dean's eyes were wide. John didn't ever let him sit up in the front with him. He climbed over the seat excitedly, plopped down, and pulled his seatbelt on.

"Are you ready, dude?"

"Yes, sir."

"Good. 'Cause we got some work to do."

**oxoxo**


	2. Chapter 2

**Title**: That Which Was Lost... [2/?]  
**Author**: alakewood  
**Summary**: Twenty-one years later...  
**Rating**: PG-13  
**Word** **Count**: 2100  
**Warnings**: Slash, of the Wincest variety. Sam/Dean.  
**Disclaimer**: As always, I own nothing.

**oxoxo**

_June 2006_

The Roadhouse was easy enough for Dean to find. He parked the Impala at the far end of the gravel lot next to an old, beat-up El Camino. Gravel dust rose up behind him, caught on the breeze and followed, settling in a thin but noticeable layer on his car. Getting out, he looked at the dirt with a scowl, mentally reminding himself to hit up the firs car wash he came across.

Entering the Roadhouse, he blinked a couple of times as his eyes adjusted to the dimness. Everybody at the bar – and behind it – stopped their conversations and turned to look at the newcomer. A few openly stared while a couple of others started talking about him: "John Winchester's boy," he heard an old-timer at a nearby table whisper loudly.

There was a tall kid behind the bar drying beer glasses on a white, threadbare towel while trying to be inconspicuous about watching Dean. The kid apparently had no idea what subtlety was.

"Sam! What's going on out there?" a girl's voice yelled from the back room. "Why's it so quiet all of a sudden?"

Dean grinned cheekily at the other patrons as he moseyed on up to the counter. "I'm looking for Ellen Harvelle," he said to the kid – Sam, he assumed.

Kid glanced up at Dean, eyes hidden by a year's worth of missed haircuts, scowling. "Who wants to know?"

"Sam!" The voice had a face – and a body (a young, petite blonde thing), emerging from the back room, carrying a case of beer. Setting the case down, she said, "Be nice to the customers, Sammy." She leaned against the bar in front of Dean, eyeing him like she was thinking things she looked too young to think about. "Hi. I'm Jo. Harvelle."

"Well, hi there, sweetheart. I'm looking for Ellen. Your mother, I'm guessing?" Maybe a _touch_ too patronizing.

The expression on Jo's face changed so quickly from I'm-going-to-crawl-across-this-bar-and-have-my-way-with-you to I'm-going-to-bitch-slap-you-so-hard-if-nobody-stops-me. Obviously, Dean struck a nerve. "She's not here," Jo said, rolling her eyes.

"Do you know when she'll be back?"

She shrugged. "Do I look like her babysitter? I don't know. Sam?" Then she disappeared into the back room again.

Dean looked at Sam. "Women, huh?"

Sam made another face before the corner of his mouth turned up in a half-smile. "You have no idea, dude. _And_, I have to live with her." He set the last glass down and tossed the towel over his shoulder. "Can I get you anything?"

"Your best domestic is fine. You got food, too?"

In response, Sam handed him a plastic-covered menu that had definitely seen better days.

**oxo**

After Sam had brought Dean his cheeseburger (with the works, and a bottle of hot sauce) and another beer, Sam busied himself cleaning up the tables and taking care of the other customers. But he couldn't keep his mind off of Dean. Eventually, his curiosity got the best of him and he went back over to the mysterious stranger. "So," he started casually, folding his arms across his chest as he leaned back against the counter. "What brings you to the Roadhouse?"

Dean wiped his mouth with a napkin, then balled it up and tossed it into his empty food basket. "Need to talk to your mom."

Sam nodded. "About...?"

"Is it really any of your business?" Dean asked, eyebrows arched slightly.

Sam put his hands up. "Hey. Sorry. Just trying to make conversation." He looked at Dean for another moment before shaking his head and turning away.

Just before Sam was out of earshot, Dean said, quietly, "I'm looking for my dad."

**oxo**

"Sam!" Jo yelled, poking her head out from the back. "Closing time. Send your _friend_ on his way." She looked at Dean disdainfully before retreating back into the other room.

Sam glanced up at the clock above the shelves of half-full liquor bottles. "Huh." He'd been completely engrossed by Dean's tales of past hunts and lost track of time.

"Time flies," Dean said, getting to his feet and swaying a bit.

Sam looked at the cluster of beer bottles on the bar just to Dean's right. He reached out to him, clamping a large hand over his shoulder. "Hey, you're not driving, are you?"

"Well, I'm not taking the bus," Dean replied sarcastically, trying to shrug Sam's hand off.

"Dude, you're drunk. We've got a couch... You're more than welcome to stay."

Eyed Sam suspiciously and, even drunk – or maybe because of it – could see that Sam was offering more than just was he was saying. Even if Sam didn't seem aware of it. Besides, Dean's wallet was getting thin and he was waiting for those other two credit cards to be approved. A free night's stay somewhere would save him what little cash he had left. "Yeah," he said. "Okay. Sure."

Sam looked a little surprised. "Yeah? Okay. Just, uh, just let me finish cleaning up, then...then we can go. You want another beer while you wait?"

It wasn't like he could get much drunker. Dean settled back on his bar stool. "Why not."

"On the house," Sam said, setting it in front of him.

Dean let his fingers ghost over Sam's as he reached for the bottle. "Thanks." He eyed Sam's mouth, licking his lips, before taking a drink.

Sam was innocent enough to blush, turning away and reaching for a damp rag. "You're welcome."

Silently, Dean watched Sam work; bending, stretching, leaning. Button-up pulled tight across his back, jeans hanging loosely off his slim hips – Dean had to wonder what all that muscle and sinew and skin looked like. It had been awhile since he'd gotten laid, even longer since he'd been with another guy (just that one time in LA because there was no avoiding it – no matter where he went, he was always getting hit on by somebody).

"You ready?" Sam asked, throwing the rag into the empty sink.

Dean slid off his stool again, less steady than he had been before. "Yep."

Sam leaned halfway into the back room. "Jo, I'm heading home. Dean's gonna crash on the couch."

Jo was pulling her jacket on. "Whatever." She tossed a set of keys at him. "I'm going over to Rick's. Don't wait up." With that, she stormed out the back door, letting it slam shut behind her.

Sam pulled a sweatshirt off a hook behind the bar and went to where Dean was standing by the front exit. "Sorry," he said. "Jo."

Dean just nodded and headed outside. "Just gotta get a couple things from my car."

"Okay." Sam turned the lights off and locked the front door. He sidled up beside Dean's car, giving a low whistle. "Nice."

Dean pulled his head out of the trunk, ridiculous grin on his face. "She's my baby."

Sam peered in the driver's side window, then slowly walked around the Impala. "_This_ is a car." He glanced up at Dean. "'67?"

If Sam had been a girl, Dean probably would've proposed then and there. Wasn't freaked out by the hunt (was actually _fascinated_ by it) _and_ knew what year his baby was. Alas. Sam? Definitely a guy, and that necessarily wasn't a bad thing. Besides, Dean felt some sort of connection with the kid.

Sam was staring back at him and Dean realized he hadn't answered.

"Yeah. '67. Sorry, I was just in complete awe for a moment."

"Why's that?" Sam asked as Dean closed the trunk.

They fell in step, side by side, as Sam headed across the small field towards the Harvelle house. "You don't exactly seem like a classic car kind of guy."

Sam nodded. "I couldn't tell you what's what under the hood, but I know body styles. Enough to recognize from a distance." He paused, then explained, "I've got an uncle that runs a salvage yard."

"I see."

The rest of the walk was quiet; a companionable silence, not an uncomfortable one. Sam led Dean into the house ad upstairs. Second door on the right, Sam opened it and turned on the light. One wall was one huge bookcase, completely _full_ of books. "This is my room. You can stay here. The bathroom's right across the hall. I'll be downstairs on the couch if you need anything else." He glanced at Dean quickly before heading back out into the hallway.

"Hey, Sam?" Dean called, still staring at the wall of books.

Sam was through the door in mere seconds. "Yeah?" Dean walked into his personal space, inches away. Just looked up at Sam for the longest moment ever, but Sam couldn't look away. Knew they were thinking and feeling the exact same thing: there was some sort of very real, nearly physical, connection between them. He wasn't surprised when Dean's callused hand slid around the back of his neck and forced their mouths together almost fiercely.

Sam's brain started functioning not long after he found himself shirtless and on his bed, straddled by Dean, a minute - _maybe_ - from being pantsless, too. "Whoa." He placed a firm hand against Dean's chest. "Hold up a minute, okay?"

"Yeah. You all right?"

"I've just..." He looked at Dean's biceps, flexed with the effort of holding his body above Sam's; his eyes traveled across freckled shoulders to a smooth, broad chest and the pendant dangling from a thin leather cord. Returned his attention to Dean's green eyes. "I've never done this before. With a guy, I mean."

"That's okay," Dean heard himself say. "We can go slow." Surprised himself with that – but he actually _meant_ it. For the first time, he wanted more than _Wham, Bam, Thank-you, Ma'am_- well, _Sir_.

"You sure?"

Dean's reply was a languid, drawn-out kiss that made Sam clutch at his hips and pull their bodies flush, just pressing, and taking, and giving.

They spent hours like that, making out like high schoolers, before Dean succumbed to sleep. Sam pushed the curtain back from the window to let the moonlight in. He studied the scars on Dean's chest and stomach, cataloging them as if they might provide him with the answers to questions he didn't even know he'd wanted to ask. Dean's whole life mapped out in scars.

**oxo**

When Sam awoke the following morning, he was alone in bed. But he could hear the shower running across the hall. A glance at his alarm clock showed it was a little after seven – definitely too early for it to be Jo.

The shower turned off and Dean entered Sam's room, towel wrapped around his hips just below the jut of bone, and Sam couldn't not stare.

"Morning," Dean greeted, reaching into his duffle for a change of clothes.

"Morning."

Dean was very aware of Sam's eyes on him as he tugged the towel off and laid it at the foot of the bed before pulling on a pair of boxer-briefs. Sam waited until he was completely dressed before he spoke again.

"How long are you gonna be around?"

"Depends. When's your mom gettin' back?"

"Maybe a week. Maybe less."

Dean nodded. That didn't seem like enough time. _Enough time for what?_, he had to think. There was something here, between him and this kid. What it was, he couldn't say. It felt as though pieces of himself he hadn't even known were missing were falling into place. _One night, Winchester, and you're getting emotional. That's a_ dick _between your legs, not a -_

"Oh. Then what?"

"Find the next hunt. Keep looking for my dad."

Sam threw the blankets towards the foot of the bed, swinging his legs over the side. "I gotta get ready for work."

"Okay."

Sam scratched the back of his neck absently. "If you want to stick around for a bit, I can make breakfast."

A home-cooked meal? How could he say- "Thanks, but I can't. There's this, uh, case. In Wyoming. I was gonna check it out. I. I'll see you later, though, okay? I'll stop down at the Roadhouse." He picked his duffle up from the floor and slung it over his shoulder.

"Yeah." The muscle in Sam's jaw twitched. He stalked past Dean, out of the bedroom. "I'll show you out."

Like a walk of shame, but for a different reason. He could feel those perfect-fit pieces slipping away, knew he had to say something.

Sam held the door open, staring at the floor. Waiting.

At the threshold, a half-step away from the morning sunshine, Dean stopped, readjusting his bag. "Sam."

His gaze rose slowly, finally meeting Dean's eyes. "I'll see you."

_Such a chick, Winchester_. He leaned up and kissed Sam. A promise: "I'll see you later."

But as Dean strode across the field, towards the Roadhouse, part of Sam doubted he'd ever see him again.


	3. Chapter 3

**Title:** That Which Was Lost... [3/?]  
**Author:** alakewood  
**Warnings: **Developing Wincest of the Sam/Dean variety.  
**Word Count: **1900  
**Rating:** PG-13-ish  
**Summary:** "_You in?" Dean asked. _Over my head,_ Sam thought.  
_**Disclaimer:** As always, I own nothing.

**oxoxo**

Dean had barely made it ten miles before he pulled off the highway, the Impala's brakes protesting the sudden stop with a squeal. He sat there on the gravel shoulder for a few minutes, the ring on his finger idly tapping against the steering wheel as he stared into the rearview mirror.

Like a shark, he had to keep moving – couldn't stop, 'cause the inertia could kill him. Knew he should just keep driving and not look back, but... This thing – this _one night thing_ – with Sam. He just couldn't shake it. It was a feeling he'd never had before, like he wanted to be truly intimate and honest and a whole list of other things that he'd never been.

Dean turned the steering wheel hard to the left, pulled a U-turn on the highway, and headed back towards the Roadhouse. He tried to breathe slowly, evenly, hoping to control the terrified excitement that made his heart race and his stomach turn. The same feeling he got before a potentially dangerous hunt.

The Roadhouse was visible from the highway, but the parking lot was empty. Dean's stomach twisted, feeling far more nervous than he'd ever admit. _Where's Sam?_ Obviously, the Roadhouse wasn't open, so Sam must've had another job. Somewhere.

It was, maybe, a five- or ten-minute drive into town, and it didn't do anything to quell Dean's nervousness. He didn't even know where to start looking for Sam. He slowly cruised down Main Street, struck with sudden embarrassment when the old lady behind him honked, probably saying something like, "Get a move on, you jackass." He pulled into a diagonal parking space outside of a brick building with a 'For Sale or Lease' sign in the front window. Drumming his fingers on the dash, he attempted to formulate a plan of attack. "Suck it up, Winchester," he told himself, knowing the more he thought about it, the more likely he'd be to just get up and go.

Outside of the comfort of the Impala, Dean felt like the stalker he was apparently becoming. He tried his hardest to blend in with the friendly population of Podunk, Middle of Nowhere, but he knew he stuck out like O.J. at a Ford dealership. _White Bronco, anyone?_

For once, however, luck was shining down on Dean Winchester, and he caught sight of Sam weaving through traffic and heading into a diner. He followed, not really caring how obvious he was – not like he was going to compromise a job or anything.

The door swung open a lot easier than Dean expected, the bells attached to it jangling erratically and startling a few patrons. Sam turned, the expression on his face cycling through confusion, surprise, and hope, settling on surprise. A couple of long strides had him at Dean's side. "I thought you left?" Sam asked, voice quiet.

Dean nodded towards the door. "Yeah. I did."

Outside, Sam couldn't hold back his smile. "You came back," he said, squinting into the sunlight.

"Yeah. I did," Dean repeated. "I was thinking that, maybe, you might want to come with me. But I completely understand if you don't, or can't, or whatever, because, yeah, you don't even know me, and-"

"Come with you?"

Dean ran his fingers through his hair, his hand resting at the back of his head for a moment. "Yeah. On the hunt. I mean, only if you want."

Sam glanced back inside the diner. He couldn't just _leave_, could he?

_God, this was a stupid idea._ "Yeah, I know – crazy." Dean backed up a couple of steps. "Sorry. I'm just...I'm gonna go." _Stupid!_

Sam didn't know what to do, but he knew he had to choose fast. Sam was the responsible, dependable one in his family – he didn't just decide to up and leave his job, his hometown, on a whim when some guy –some_ guy!_ - asked him to. But Dean wasn't 'some guy.' Well, he was, but he didn't feel like it. Invisible bonds connected them that made this _thing_ anything but random. Verle would always welcome him back to the diner, but what were the chances of him ever seeing Dean again? "Dean! Wait!"

Dean exhaled a shaky breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding in, lungs burning for air. Relief surged through his body like adrenaline and he turned to face Sam hoping he didn't look as surprised as he felt. "You in?"

_Over my head._ Sam nodded, broad grin revealing teeth and dimples, somehow knowing that this was _right_. "I'm in. I just have to, um, tell my boss I'm gonna...gonna be gone for a while." He paused. "You want to meet me back at my house? I guess I need to pack a bag, huh?" He felt ridiculously giddy, like a girl going on her first overnight trip with her boyfriend. But A) Sam wasn't a girl, and B) Dean wasn't his boyfriend.

"Sure. I'll see you there." Dean's smile was wide, wrinkling the corners of his eyes. He turned and headed back across the street to his car where, once inside, he had to take a moment to really think about what his intent was. If he was completely honest with himself, part of the reason for inviting Sam along was to get him in a hotel room where they'd have ample time – hours upon uninterrupted hours – to get to know each other better. But a bigger part of it was that he didn't want to regret not finding out what was between them. That damned feeling that clouded his judgment and made him think, _Hey, why don't you ask your new boy friend to come along on a 'hunt' so you can spend a few days holed up in a hotel room doing nothing but each other?_ There really was a hunt in Wyoming, but it was just a few spooks freaking out the residents of an assisted-living community – Dean guessed it was no more than a couple of wrongful deaths, maybe an old guy buried somewhere on the property. He could take Sam on his first hunt, show him how to summon a restless spirit and make it cross over. The hotel could come after. Dean nodded to himself, starting the car and backing out into the street.

.

Dean parked near the house then got out and leaned against his car to wait for Sam. Two minutes, tops, had passed when Jo came bursting out the front door. "What the hell are you doing here?"

Head cocked to the side, Dean squinted as he looked at her, unsure as to why her hostility was directed at him. "Waiting for Sam."

"My brother's at work," she said, hands on her hips and her chin held in a defiant angle, the embodiment of attitude.

He could hear the sound of an engine approaching – Jo apparently could too, and she shrunk in on herself slightly as she recognized it – and the nondescript Chevy sedan crested the hill and Sam pulled it right up beside the Impala.

"What are you doing home?" Jo questioned, eying Dean the whole time, following Sam towards the house.

"I'm gonna be gone for a couple of days," he replied, not making eye contact.

She stood in his doorway as he packed his old book bag. "Gone where?"

He shrugged one shoulder, scanning his room for anything he missed that he might need, wanting nothing more than for Jo to just lay off. "Just...away. For a couple days." He turned and started for the door, but Jo wasn't moving.

"Tell me where." She braced her forearms on the doorjamb and narrowed her eyes at him, and it reminded Sam of when he went away to school – blocked the doorway in just the same way, refusing to let him go. This time, as he'd done then, he simply picked her up and moved her into the hall. She made an indignant sound in the back of her throat. "Tell me, Sam."

"I'll be back before you know it." He headed down the hallway.

"I'm gonna tell Mom, and she's gonna be pissed."

Sam stopped at the top of the stairs and turned to look at her. "I'm twenty-three years old. What's she gonna do? Ground me?"

"Don't go with him, Sam. You don't even know him."

Opened his mouth, closed it, working his jaw; and his gaze fell to the carpet near his feet. "You wouldn't understand."

"Then _tell me_," she implored. She walked over to him, grabbed his arm just above his elbow. "Please. This just isn't you."

Sam pressed a kiss to her forehead, just as he had before he left for Stanford, and headed down the stairs. "I'll be back in a couple of days."

**oxo**

"So," Dean said, breaking the nearly hour-long silence since they'd left Sam's house, "I'm about a hundred and fifty percent sure that your sister hates me."

Sam laughed. "She doesn't _hate_ you."

"I'm pretty sure she does."

"She just didn't want me to come with you 'cause I don't know you. She's just worried about me." He glanced at Dean, who scratched at his bottom lip with the back of a thumb as he returned Sam's glance, a half-smirk tugging up the corner of one side of his mouth. "Should she be?"

The smirk split into a grin and Dean had to refocus his attention on the road. "Nah. This job'll be a cakewalk. Unless she's worried about...?"

"No. No, she doesn't have a clue about this."

"I'm your dirty little secret, huh?" One eyebrow arched comically.

Sam bit his lip at the thought that popped into his head. He was liking this new bold and daring side of himself, so he made a conscious decision to voice what he was thinking. "'Dirty' and 'secret,' maybe. But if I remember last night correctly, there's nothing 'little' about it."

Dean's other brow rose, eyes wide as he turned to look at Sam – this brazen part of the seemingly innocent Sam undeniably enticing. "Wow. Maybe your sister should've been worried about _me_."

Sam felt the heat flare in his cheeks, knew he was blushing violently, but he couldn't help the smile it brought to his face. He nodded, watching Dean from the corner of his eye. "Maybe."

**oxo**

The Ranch House Motel was right off of 20, and Dean couldn't hold back his chuckle. The chuckle became a laugh when Sam spoke the exact thing he'd been thinking: "A little _Brokeback Mountain_, don't you think?"

The shit-eating grin stayed firmly in place on Dean's face while they checked into a room, possibly even getting wider when the young woman at the desk informed him that the only vacancy they had was a room with a king-sized bed. "Trust me," Dean said, "that won't be a problem."

It took the girl a moment to realize what he meant, and she swallowed hard as the pink crept into her cheeks. All she could do was hand the key to Dean and point in the general direction of their room.

"Thanks, darlin'," he drawled.

She chanced a peek at them, accidentally made eye contact with Sam and averted her gaze.

They returned to the Impala and drove the short distance down the lot to park in front of their room. "You ready for your first hunt?"

Sam's brow furrowed. "I thought hunts usually took place at night?"

"The actually hunt itself, yeah. Usually. But we gotta figure out what we're dealing with first. I'm guessing run-of-the-mill ghosts. But we'll do some digging, talk to people that've seen them. Then we'll go back tonight."

Sam nodded. Didn't seem too hard. "Okay. Let's do this."


	4. Chapter 4

**Title**: That Which Was Lost... (4/?)  
**Characters**: Jo, Sam.  
**Warnings**: Spoilers for _Pilot_.  
**Word** **Count**: 1200+  
**Rating**: PG  
**Summary**: _Jo found entries from the previous fall. Her hand was suddenly unsteady, shaking as she turned to the date permanently ingrained in her mind._  
**Disclaimer**: As always, I own nothing.

**oxoxo**

Sam was gone. Not _gone_ gone, but he'd left with that guy he'd met at the bar the previous night. He seemed like an okay guy, but there was something about him that just felt wrong. Felt off. Jo couldn't place it. Just didn't like the idea of Sam going off with him to who knew where.

She stood in the doorway to Sam's bedroom and just looked around, something she'd had the habit of doing when he'd been away to college. Everything in an organized mess; a scatter of papers and notebooks on his desk and the books on the shelves in a seemingly random order, catalogued in a uniquely Sam way. A pattern that Jo could never seem to break. There was only one out of place, marked by where _Crime and Punishment_ slumped against _Metamorphosis_.

The missing book was on the nightstand beside his bed – Nietzsche's _Thus Spoke Zarathustra_. Sam was such a brainiac – by far, the smartest person Jo had ever known, not that she'd ever admit it to his face. She scanned the back, the words _God is dead_ catching her eye.

Sam and his philosophy.

Curious, she opened the book. Instead of blocks of typewritten text, Jo was surprised to find lined notebook pages full of Sam's careful, half-cursive script. _Sneaky bastard_, she thought. Knowing that what she held in her hands was her brother's journal, Jo debated closing the cover and sliding it back into its space on the shelf or closing herself in his room to read it. Wasn't like he'd never stolen her journal – of course, they'd been kids then. Sam had teased her relentlessly for weeks about her crush on Kenny Hamilton. This was different – they were adults, and a lot closer than the hair-pulling, shin-kicking eight- and ten-year-olds they'd been.

There wasn't a whole lot they kept from each other, Jo decided, flipping through pages and scanning the dates at the beginning of each entry. In the middle of the book, Jo found entries from the previous fall. Her hand was suddenly unsteady, shaking as she turned to the date permanently ingrained in her mind.

Jo was surprised that the journal had survived the fire, but remembered that her brother took his prized journal nearly everywhere. He apparently had forgotten it today in his haste to leave with his mysterious new friend. What was going on between them, Jo didn't dare let her mind wander into that territory, instead refocusing her attention on the journal.

_November 1, 2005_. The day before Jess died. _Jess can tell how nervous I am about my interview tomorrow. She's been out all day with her friends, just giving me space – knows exactly what I needed. She knows me better than anybody. I love her so much._

I picked the ring up from the jeweler's on Friday. If all goes well at my interview, I'll propose to her tomorrow night. I honestly don't think I would've gotten this far without her. And I can't imagine going through the rest of my life without her.

Jo couldn't even _fathom_ when Sam must've gone through after the fire. He'd been so distant when Jo went to Palo Alto to be with him for the funeral, numb and blank, on auto-pilot for months. She couldn't imagine what it would feel like to lose somebody she loved so completely. Her mother, Sam. If she lost either of them, she wasn't sure if she'd be able to go on.

She turned the page, the next entry dated two days later. The neatness of Sam's handwriting was replaced by a sloppy, slanted scrawl, written in obvious haste.

_November 3, 2005. She died. She's_ dead _and I could've stopped it. I_ knew _and I didn't stop it. I saw it all and didn't do anything! I had the dreams for weeks before it happened and I didn't tell her. I didn't know what was going to happen! I didn't know it was real!_

Why is this happening? Why did he take her?

These visions are scaring me – they're true every time. What's wrong with me?

Jo was confused. Sam had dreams about how Jess was going to die? He had _visions_? Why hadn't he said anything? In all honesty, Jo knew why. Psychic dreams and visions, knowing what they knew, didn't mean a one-way ticket to the funny farm – they hinted at evil and demons and darkness, things far worse than being crazy. Some of the hunters that passed through the Roadhouse would attribute death-visions to being a side-effect of a possession – wouldn't think twice about killing Sam, even though most of them had known Sam since he was a kid.

Best to keep things like that secret from everybody. But Jo wasn't _everybody_ - she was his sister.

She knew she'd read more than she should've, so there really wasn't much reason to stop there. She flipped to the last entry. It was dated nearly a month back, written in the same scrawl as the previous entry she'd read.

_May 1, 2005. Same dream the past couple nights. New hunter comes to the Roadhouse, haven't seen him around before. He's young, looking for somebody. He's going to be in car accident – _demons_ – he's supposed to die. He can save me. I have to save him._

Suddenly the morning's events made sense.

**oxo**

When Jo closed her eyes, she could see Sam's script like sunspots behind her eyes. Green fading to red on black. _Demons_ and _He can save me._ So she just tried to keep her eyes open, kept them wide, which got her a few curious looks from her regulars.

"You all right, kiddo?" Joseph Murphy asked, eyes kind and concerned.

"Yeah, Mr. Murphy, I'm fine. Just been a kinda rough day," Jo replied, letting her eyes relax a little.

"Got anything to do with that brother of yours?" He took a sip of his Jack and Coke, then folded his hands in front of himself on the counter.

She nodded. "Yeah," was a sigh.

"I know it's none of my business," he began before leaning in slightly, "but I saw him with that hunter that came in last night." When Jo nodded again, he continued. "Dean Winchester's the kid's name – he and his daddy are hunters the likes of which are rare, unparalleled by any other hunter I've seen in my days."

"I see," Jo said, even though she didn't, really. Was she supposed to be comforted by that, or more scared? "Thanks, Mr. Murphy."

"Sam's a smart boy, Jo. He'll be okay."

Jo closed her eyes, seeing the words again. _I hope so_, she thought.


	5. Chapter 5

**Title**: That Which Was Lost... (5/?)  
**Author**: alakewood  
**Warnings**: Death, an almost-vague description of a dead body, and Wincesty-banter.  
**Word** **Count**: 1800  
**Rating**: PG-13  
**Summary**: Sam's first salt-and-burn.  
**A/N**: I don't really know much about the decaying process of a human body, so if my description is off (or if the timeline doesn't jive), I apologize for the inconsistency.  
**Disclaimer**: As always, I own nothing.

**oxoxo**

They'd been sitting outside of the Riverview Retirement Village for at least fifteen minutes, Sam guessed. "So. What's the plan, boss?"

Dean stopped chewing on the inside of his cheek. "Here's what we're going to do. You're gonna keep all the old biddies occupied. Tell 'em you're new in town and want to volunteer your time."

Sam looked like he didn't quite buy it. "Meanwhile, you'll be doing what?"

"I'll be doing a little B an' E. Check out the records room to see if I can find anything off about the deaths."

"Okay. So, I should go in first to create a 'diversion?'" His eyebrows rose slightly as he gestured the air-quotes.

"Yeah. I'll text you when I'm done, so put your phone on vibrate."

Grinning, Sam gave him a mock-salute before he opened his door. He waited for a break in traffic before jogging across the street to the front entrance of the assisted-living half of the community.

"Can I help you?" the receptionist, a tired-looking, bottle-blonde, forty-something, asked.

Sam offered his most charming smile. "Yeah. Hi." His shoulders slouched unconsciously. "I just moved to town and, well, I was kind of hoping I could volunteer here."

The nurse was a lot less wary than Sam had expected her to be. "Sometimes you young kids surprise me. My kids," she said, "don't do anything out of the goodness of their hearts. Always gotta get something in return, you know?"

Sam nodded as he followed her down the hallway. "Yeah. I just want to give back, I guess. And, I believe in Karma – do good things for others, and, hopefully, good things will happen to me."

She stopped outside of a nicked wooden door and knocked on it once before she opened it. "Jan? Hey. This is..."

"Oh, sorry. I forgot to introduce myself. James Dean, like the actor. But you can call me Jimmy." He smiled sheepishly as he offered his hand to Jan.

"Jan's the activity coordinator here at Riverview. Jimmy would like to volunteer his time with us."

Jan's smile was wide, and Sam started to feel a little guilty that this was all part of the con. "Why don't you come with me, then, Jimmy."

**oxo**

Dean rounded the building to a side door. Mounted opposite the lock was a gray box for a keycard. Luckily for Dean, one of the few devices his dad had left behind was a magnetic-strip decoder, which had definitely come in handy that time he'd lost the card to his hotel room in Detroit. Not exactly the place to get caught bleeding out in a hallway.

He held the device over the swipe pad. A moment later, they both beeped and Dean pulled the door open easily. He slipped inside and began his search.

**oxo**

Jan had introduced Sam - _Jimmy_ - to Eleanor, an assisted living resident that spent her days volunteering with the patients in the long-term care unit.

Eleanor was sixty-eight years young and aimed a genuine, eye-wrinkling smile at Sam as she took his hand in both of hers. "It's so nice to see kids like you get involved with us old-timers."

"My grandparents died before I was born," Sam said, "so I feel like...I don't know. I guess it's as much for me as it is for them." Sam was amazed at how easily the lies slipped from his mouth.

Eleanor's eyes darkened considerably and her smile faltered. "It's still a good thing you're doing."

"Are you all right?" Sam asked, sensing her sudden sadness.

Her lips formed a hard line. "I lost my husband just a few weeks ago."

_Yahtzee._ "I'm sorry." He reached a hand over to her arm, grasped it gently above the elbow in a comforting squeeze.

A slightly wavering smile. "It's expected when you get to be our age. Happens all the time around here." That last remark sounded almost ominous.

"What do you mean?"

"People get old, then die. It's _natural_," Eleanor said. "But what's going on lately? I wouldn't exactly call it natural."

Sam waited for her to continue, but she didn't right away. He gestured towards the windows, away from the other residents.

"The past few months, we've seen one or two people die a week. All from the exact same thing."

"What is it? A virus or something?"

Eleanor shook her head, eyes cold and focused as she stared outside. "No. Everyone that sees it dies – has a heart attack. Jerry, my husband, he woke me the first time he saw it, but it disappeared when I looked towards the foot of the bed."

"What was it?"

"A ghost, I guess. Jerry thought, at first, she was a nurse, but she wasn't dressed right. Kind of like we did when we were young. Then Jerry realized he could see _through_ her. I told him it was just a dream. Then he died the next night. Heart attack, just like the others."

"I'm so sorry," he said again. He was quiet for a long moment. "Do you remember anything strange happening before all this started?"

"Look at us," Eleanor said. "We're both crazy. There's no such thing as ghosts."

"But all these people dying – your husband. It can't just be a coincidence. All from heart attacks? Something's going on."

Eleanor glanced at him, then returned her gaze out the window.

"Was there anybody that died in an accident?" he ventured.

"I'm not sure if I know what you mean, Jimmy."

Sam shrugged. She already thought he might be crazy, might as well see how far he could take it. "I don't know. Did anybody get left in a bath tub? Fall in the shower? Get the wrong meds? Anybody die in a way they shouldn't have?"

This time, Eleanor openly stared at him. "The only thing I can think of," she said slowly, "is Elizabeth O'Connell. She'd had dementia since before I'd met her. She fell five or six months ago, ended up in a coma. Three months ago, her family decided it would be best to just let her go."

"So they pulled the plug?"

She made a face. "So to speak."

"Was she not getting better?"

"I'm not sure. I can tell you this: her kids weren't sad to see her go. I don't think any of her family ever came to visit once the whole time I knew her."

"That's terrible."

"All they cared about was the money." Her attention went somewhere to Sam's right. "Will you excuse me?"

Sam followed her gaze to where a couple of old men had begun arguing over their card game. He pulled his cell phone out and sent Dean a text. _Elizabeth O'Connell._

"Jimmy," Eleanor said. Then repeated herself louder when he didn't respond. "Jimmy!"

It took Sam a minute to realize that _he_ was Jimmy. "Sorry," he apologized on his way over to her.

"This is Walter and Ivan. Do you know any card games?"

"Blackjack?" Sam offered.

**oxo**

Twenty minutes later, Sam's phone vibrated - _Got it_. He promptly excused himself from the table and headed for the exit off the sunroom. Dean was already in the car when he got there.

"I looked at that Elizabeth's file," Dean said, eyebrows high. "She was a little cracked. She'd been in and out of institutions when she was a kid, was fine until she lost her husband, then went bat-shit. Thought she was a kid again. Ended up in a coma-"

"And her greedy kids pulled the plug."

"Pretty much, yeah."

"Got the story from somebody on the inside," Sam said. "What's next?"

"Eliminate all other possibilities – which I did. Then find out where the ol' broad is buried. Check out the library."

Sam nodded. "Microfiche."

"What kind of fish?"

**oxo**

The afternoon was spent going through old newspapers on microfilm to find Elizabeth's obituary. From there, they headed to the cemetery listed in the obit, and went about locating her grave. By the time they found it, it was nearly ten and a fine rain had started. A little over an hour of digging, and Sam struck something solid.

It was more difficult than Sam had imagined – the whole process of digging up a grave, prying open the lid to the coffin – and then there was the smell.

Elizabeth O'Connell had been in the ground for three short months. Her skin was mottled and draped across her bones unlike the image Sam had in his mind of her nearly mummified remains. He was all too eager to accept the bad of rock salt that Dean handed him. "Thanks."

Dean poured a liberal amount of gasoline over the corpse then pulled a box of wooden matches from his duffle bag. "Good riddance," he said, striking a match against the side of the box and tossing it into the coffin.

"Does the whole desecration thing ever bother you?" Sam asked as they watched the body burn.

Dean shrugged. "Maybe a little, at first. I mean, it's somebody's grandma," he gestured to the open grave. "Or their brother, their kid. But if it keeps somebody else alive...The job is as much about saving people as it is about destroying whatever evil sons of bitches are lurking out there."

Sam nodded. They continued to wait in silence until the fire went out, then closed the casket and filled the grave back in. The mist had turned to a light rain and both men ended up fairly muddy.

When Dean put his duffle back in the trunk, he returned with two towels, handing one to Sam. "Watch the upholstery."

Sam tried his hardest to keep a straight face. "Maybe I should just strip now," Sam offered.

And the temptation to just take Sam right there in the cemetery against the Impala was almost too much. "That's not a bad idea," Dean said, "but I'd kind of like to take a shower before...anything happens."

Sam bit at his bottom lip as a grin spread across his face. "Okay, boss."


	6. Chapter 6

**Title**: That Which Was Lost... (6/?)  
**Author**: alakewood  
**Warnings**: Wincest (full-on Sam/Dean sexin'!)  
**Word** **Count**: 2600  
**Rating**: NC-17  
**Summary**: A little bit of pool hustling and a lot of sexin'.  
**A/N**: I, in no way, condone drinking in driving. But I'm definitely all for the hot-boy-sexin'.  
**Disclaimer**: As always, I own nothing.

**oxoxo**

On the way back to the hotel, Sam said, "Let's go to a bar. Have a few drinks."

"Celebrate your first hunt," Dean added.

"Something like that."

The one Dean found looked like it was a health-inspector visit away from being condemned. At least from the outside. Sam should've realized that the whole don't-judge-a-book-by-its-cover thing applied to more than just books. Inside, the bar held a similar atmosphere to the Roadhouse and Sam instantly felt at ease. He and Dean received a couple of stares, most likely due to their unfamiliarity and appearance, muddy jeans and jackets.

"What'll it be?" the bartender asked when they approached the counter.

Sam pulled out his wallet and laid a twenty on the bar. "Two shots of tequila and two bottles of..." He glanced at Dean.

"Coors Light's fine," he supplied, scanning the people in the room.

The bartender returned with two bottles of beer and eight dollars in change and set up two tiny plastic shot glasses in front of Sam, filling them with a little Jose Cuervo.

Sam passed Dean a beer, then a shot. "To a successful first hunt," Dean saluted.

"Even though it was easy as pie," Sam amended, tapping the shot glasses together. The tequila burned through him, settling heavy in his empty stomach. He chased it with a swig of beer soothing the ache somewhat.

Dean nodded his head towards the other side of the bar where a couple of stools were open. There was a full bowl of pretzels and a clear view of the pool table.

Sam tried not to think of all the hands - _germy_ hands – that could have been in that bowl and was just happy to have _something_ to eat. Chewing on a pretzel, he watched Dean watch the guys at the pool table.

"We should get in on the next game," Dean said.

"Mm," was Sam's reply, mouth full of beer. "I don't know. I haven't played in a few years."

"It's like riding a bike." Dean knocked elbows with him as he climbed down from his stool and crossed over to where a scruffy, slightly heavy-set, older man stood, leaning against his cue stick. He readjusted his trucker cap and reminded Sam of his Uncle Bobby. The old guy nodded and shook Dean's hand. When Dean reclaimed his bar stool, he leaned over towards Sam. "Twenty bucks, first game."

**oxo**

Sam finished his third beer as they lost their first game. Dean handed the old guy – Gary – a crumple twenty from his pocket. "My partner's just warming up. How 'bout a rematch? Let's make it fifty."

Sam hid his smile by scratching at his nose. To him, it was obvious that Dean was hustling the poor suckers. _And_, Dean was right – just like riding a bicycle.

Throughout the second game, Sam just followed Dean's lead, backed off enough that they'd lose, but play well enough to show improvement and hopefully warrant interest in a third game. There was a glimmer of something in Dean's eye as he passed Gary the fifty bucks for game. "One more," he said. "Double or nothin'."

Gary exchanged a look with his teammate, who Sam hadn't been properly introduced to. He adjusted his hat and said, "Rack 'em up."

Dean clapped Gary on the shoulder, broad smile reaching his eyes. "That's what I like to hear." The glimmer, Sam recognized now as mischief and it spread Dean's smile into a grin when he took to Sam's side again. "No holding back," he told Sam.

**oxo**

Sam and Dean left the bar as it closed, drunk and seventy dollars richer. Didn't seem like a lot, but it would cover the night spent in the motel and then some.

The rain was falling in big, fat drops, and Dean simply ignored it, taking his time as he headed across the parking lot to the Impala. A couple yards away, he spread his arms wide as he turned towards Sam, stupid grin on his face. He continued walking, rather _stumbling_, backwards to the car as he stated, "Ven vidi vici."

Sam smiled then, eyes cast down as he backed Dean right up against the driver's side door. "No," he said. "You haven't come yet."

The sound of his voice, the look in his eyes – it caused a tremor to course through Dean, aimed straight at his dick. He was already half-hard and the friction of damp denim against damp cotton against bare skin had him pressing against Sam and swallowing thickly. "Yet," Dean repeated. So much promise in three little letters.

Sam leaned in – whole body – and bit at Dean's lip. "Yet."

Sam initiated the kiss, obscene and erotic and all the right things that had Dean achingly hard in his jeans and elicited what probably should've been classified as a whimper from his throat. It ended as abruptly as it began, Dean's head falling back as he moaned in frustration. "_Sam_." He slid into the car, shifting uncomfortably in his seat. "That was just..." He shook his head as he started the car.

Sam laughed, the smile revealing dimples that had Dean staring. "Dude, you should really keep your eyes on the road."

Dean's whole body thrummed with need, with want, for Sam. Each pothole, every bump in the road, sent little shocks of pleasure through him, and the ride back to the hotel was way too long. And finally, _finally_, he saw the sign for the Ranch House Hotel in the distance. And, yeah, he probably should've come to a complete stop before throwing her into park, but all he could think of was Sam's mouth. Sam was flush against his back as he stood outside their door, rain sluicing off the corrugated roof onto them in rivulets, as he fished the room key out of his jeans pocket. He bit off his moan as Sam's teeth grazed the side of his neck just below his ear.

"Dean." Sam's lips trailed up over Dean's jaw to claim his mouth in an awkward-angled kiss.

Dean turned, adjusted the angle, and let Sam shove him up against the door. A sharp intake of rain-heavy air as Sam's hands deftly undid the fly of his jeans and his cold fingers curled around his dick. A needy grunt; and Sam's mouth went back to work on his neck. "Christo?"

Sam chuckled, breath warm against Dean's ear. "You serious?"

Dean lowered his eyes to Sam's chest in slight embarrassment, his grin lopsided. "Just checking." He returned to the task of opening the door and pushed his way inside; found himself slammed up against it after Sam closed it. Sam's hands pulling at his clothes, stripping him, leaving a trail of jacket-shirt-boots (with Dean's help)-jeans-boxer-briefs on the way to the bed. The backs of his knees hit the mattress and he was forced to sit, eyelevel with Sam's pressing need, and he started ridding Sam of his jeans as Sam pulled his coat and shirt off.

Sam kicked his shoes and jeans off – the socks were a bigger task, requiring actual _peeling_, and he pulled Dean's off as he climbed onto the bed. "So. How're we gonna do this?"

The look in Sam's eyes – heavy-lidded with lust, pupils thinning the iris to almost nothing – helped to ease Dean's nerves. His fingers gently pressed into Sam's hips. "I don't know. Guess I was kinda hoping to fuck you." Pretending that this was the most normal thing ever; this, what they were doing.

Pursing his lips, Sam nodded. "I was kinda hoping you would, too." Followed Dean across the bed, crawled up his body but stayed far enough away that all he could feel between them was the heat they radiated. Sam used his knees to push Dean's legs open wider, leaned over Dean's chest and proceeded to kiss the bitter taste of beer and the slight tang of rainwater from Dean's mouth.

"You're such a fucking tease," Dean laughed when Sam pulled away to look down at him.

"Not really seeing how that's a problem," he said, glancing between their bodies.

It barely took any effort to flip Sam onto his back and Dean was straddling his thighs, pressing their erections together with a groan.

A sharp intake of breath was Sam's response, his hips bucking upwards as his fingers dug into the firm flesh of Dean's ass. "_God_."

"I also go by _Dean_." Sam's laugh at that sounded a little strangled. "You like that, huh? Let's try..." He moved down Sam's body, teeth scraping nipple, ribs, and hip on the way.

"Uh," was the most coherent thing Sam could come up with as he tried to not thrust into the damp heat of Dean's mouth. "Jesus," he wheezed when Dean swallowed around him. One hand fisted in the bedspread while the fingers of the other threaded through Dean's short hair. He almost lost it when the finger that had been stroking over his entrance penetrated him.

The hand that had been working the base of Sam's cock moved up to his belly, fingers splayed then curling, splaying again. "Relax," Dean told him once he pulled off. "I'm not gonna hurt you."

"I know," Sam said, staring at the water-stained ceiling. "I trust you."

Dean went completely silent and still, unable to move under the weight of those words. Trust was a thing to be diligently earned, not carelessly given away.

When Den didn't say anything back or even touch him again, it prompted Sam to lean up on his elbows. "Dean?" The dimness of the hotel room made it difficult to read the expression on his face until the beam of headlights cut across the window and lit up the dark. Sam could see that Dean was staring at him as if he couldn't comprehend the words Sam had spoken. "I trust you," he repeated, sitting up, his erection curling against his stomach, and reaching a hand behind Dean's neck to bring their mouths together.

Dean greedily returned the kiss, hand on Sam's forearm to hold it steady and keep them close, lips parted wide. Trust, a scarce commodity that Dean had rarely been offered, even by his own father. Trust, a gift bestowed upon an unworthy man.

Sam broke the kiss, breathless, forehead pressed against Dean's as his heart thudded in his chest. Their ragged breathing and the blood rushing in his ears was all he could hear. He started to lean back, coaxing Dean to follow.

Dean stretched over the side of the bed and rifled through his bag. He uncapped the bottle he'd produced and squeezed some of the lube onto his fingers before dropping the bottle back into his duffle. Crawled towards Sam on one hand and both knees, settled between his thighs. Kneeling there, he looked down at Sam, the whole situation far more intimate than any other he'd experienced. Strange and foreign, and so unlike him to be so emotionally involved. "I don't deserve this," he said. Sam's trust; _Sam._

"You will," was Sam's reply, even though there was know way he could know if it was true. It was cryptic and Sam didn't know why he had even said it.

Dean's fingers, slick with lube, went back to working Sam open. One finger, Sam's legs fell open; two, and he was panting; three had him writhing and begging Dean, "Please."

Using the excess lube, Dean stroked himself a couple times. Protection was a distance thought as he pressed into Sam, losing himself inch by inch as Sam's body took what he gave. He was buried to the hilt, muscles of Sam's ass tight and clenching around him. Shifted Sam's hips with his hands, tilted them just so, pulled out and pushed back in and Sam made this _sound_. Dean's gentleness ended there.

Sam's feet were plated firmly on the mattress, heels dug in as he rose to meet Dean's thrusts. And every time they – "Oh," just like that – the pain crossed into pleasure and rolled through him, like waves crashing on a beach. Muscles in his back and his thighs spasmed and Sam was vaguely aware the he would be very sore in the morning.

Dean's thrusts became more erratic the closer the go to his orgasm. "Come on, Sam," he said, voice rough, into Sam's ear. "Fist your dick. I wanna see you touch yourself. Show me how you like it."

_Jesus_, Sam could probably come from Dean's words alone. Slid a hand over his stomach, through the pool of precome from his leaking dick, and curled his fingers around the base of his shaft. Light pressure up, twisted his wrist a little, swiped his thumb over the tip. Thumb and middle finger a tight ring on the way back down. He couldn't take his eyes off of Dean's face – biting his bottom lip as he watched Sam jerk himself.

"Yeah, Sam. Just like that." Dean's gaze, lust-filled, rose to meet Sam's and when Sam's teeth grazed over his full bottom lip as his eyelids fluttered, it was over for Dean. His every muscle tensed as he came hard, spilling himself into Sam, who wasn't far behind. Spent, he collapsed onto Sam as his orgasm ebbed.

The room was silent, save for their breathing, until Sam said, "As much as I don't want to move - _ever_ - I think we should probably take a shower." They were both sticky with sweat and come, and still filthy from the hunt.

Dean's response was nothing more than a hum.

"Dean."

"Yeah. Gimme a minute."

Sam's hands went to Dean's ass, gave it a gently squeeze. "_Dean_."

**oxo**

Under the warm spray, Sam soaped them both up, fingers light on over-sensitized skin. Kissed Dean lazily as he worked, hand cupping his cheek, thumb stroking over a day's worth of stubble and wiping away a splatter of mud from his neck. "That was..." Sam let out a breath. "Mindblowing. Definitely some of the best sex I've _ever_ had."

Dean nodded as Sam maneuvered them around the tiny shower stall to rinse off. "Amazing," he said, trying to ignore the interested twitch of his cock as he thought of how thoroughly well-fucked Sam looked. There wouldn't be a round two tonight, he knew. Sam wasn't quite ready to go again, and, even though Sam trusted him, Dean wasn't ready to let his guard down enough and let Sam take _him._

Instead, they dried off with one of the towels on the rack and returned to the bed, Sam pulling the soiled bedspread off and tossing it towards their scattered clothing on the floor. Worn out, clean, and sated, they collapsed into bed, Sam's leg between Dean's and an arm across his chest.

Sleep came swiftly, peacefully, and Sam's dreams – for the first time in almost a year - were empty.

**oxoxo**

A/N 2: Also, if you've followed along this far, please, _please_, review. A few of you have, but I'd really like to know what you all think - what you liked, what you didn't. If you liked it, if you loved it, if there were parts you hated. I just want your feedback. So, yeah. Reviews are _greatly_ appreciated. Thanks


	7. Chapter 7

**Title**: That Which Was Lost... (7/?)  
**Author**: alakewood  
**Warnings**: Mild Wincest. Spoilers for _Nightmare_.  
**Word** **Count**: 1600  
**Rating**: PG-13  
**Summary**: The morning after, and Sam has a vision. That night, Bobby and Ellen arrive back at the Roadhouse.  
**A/N**: Big thanks to Creeno, JENJARFAN, Serenity, Pace1818, and ren'ai-iki for reviewing. Thank you for taking the time to read and for commenting, it is very much appreciated. Hope you enjoy!  
**Disclaimer**: As always, I own nothing.

**oxoxo**

When Dean awoke in the morning, the room was much brighter than he was used to. Judging by the amount of sunlight and the way the shadows fell across the floor and crawled over the sheets covering his legs, it was probably close to nine or ten. He sighed, yawned, and stretched, cool air rushing along his heated back before he relaxed into the body behind him again.

The arm flung over Dean's hip snaked up to his waist and held him close. "Mm," Sam said in protest, burying his face between the back of Dean's head and the pillow they shared.

Dean turned slightly under Sam's arm, shifted his legs one way then another.

"Dude. Stop moving," Sam almost groaned.

"Sorry," he apologized, remembering that Sam was probably feeling sore. "It's just..." He craned his neck around, trying to see Sam. "It's a little weird."

"What is?" Sam asked, not moving the slightest.

"Being the little spoon." Dean felt, as much as heard, Sam's laugh.

Sam grinned and kissed the back of Dean's neck just below his hairline. "Get used to it. I'm too tall to be the little spoon. Besides, I'm too content to move right now."

Dean was quiet for a long moment. "How are you feeling?"

"A little sore, but I kind of expected that." It was Sam's turn for silence, then, "What now?"

Dean shrugged a shoulder. "Should probably take you home. I need to talk to your mom when she gets back anyway."

"Why do you think she can help?"

"There's a lot of hunters that pass through the Roadhouse. I'm hoping she's heard something about my dad, or can point me in the direction of somebody else who might've. I've already tried most of his old hunter buddies, but it's like..." Dean shook his head.

"Like what?" Sam prompted.

A heavy sigh, then Dean carefully rolled over to face Sam. "Like he disappeared. Vanished. But I got this feeling that he's _out there_."

Sam nodded, thinking. "Where was he last?"

"Some small town in California. Jericho, I think."

"Maybe we should head out there, then."

"We?"

"I want to help you find him."

Dean shook his head again. "I don't know how long it'll take to track him down. You've got a life to get back to, Sam. A family."

The image of Dean in the car accident from his vision flashed in Sam's mind and, while he knew he couldn't tell Dean of the visions just yet, he knew he had to convince Dean to let him go. "They'll understand."

"Are you sure? 'Cause I'm pretty certain your sister would probably hunt me down."

"Look: if we don't find anything promising in a few days, I'll put myself on a bus back to Nebraska."

Three more days? He knew he was only drawing out the inevitable, but Dean was greedy and Sam was willing. "Three days."

"Now that that's agreed, how 'bout breakfast? I'm starving."

**oxo**

An hour later, Sam and Dean were sitting across from each other in a booth at a diner down the highway from the motel. Dean mopped up the rest of his egg yolk with the crust of his toast as he watched Sam pick through his bowl of fresh fruit. "You feeling okay?"

Sam glanced up, wondering how obvious it had been. He shrugged. "Just kinda feeling a little lightheaded."

Dean wasn't exactly buying it, but he wouldn't push the issue. "Okay."

Sam's cell phone rang, sounded vaguely like Foreigner, and he pulled it from his pocket. He looked at the front screen and pressed a button on the side, silencing the ringing. "Jo," he said, glancing at Dean before he flipped the phone open and turned it off. There was a pressure behind his eyes that made his whole head throb. Sam pinched the bridge of his nose, squeezing his eyes shut.

"Sam?" Dean pushed his plate aside as he leaned across the table. "Sam, seriously. Are you okay?"

He inhaled sharply through his nose. "I don't – I don't know."

"Why don't you go outside, get some air. See if that helps. I'll go get the check."

Sam blinked a couple of times, his vision out of focus, as he stood. "Yeah. Okay."

Dean watched Sam leave, kept an eye on him through the large plate-glass window at the front of the diner as he waited at the register. He pulled his wallet from his back pocket and dug for a twenty amongst the ones and fives. From the corner of his eye, he saw Sam lean over, bracing his hands on his knees. In the next moment, Sam was blindly reaching for something to lean against as he pressed the heel of the other hand to his temple. It all happened in slow motion and Dean's feet just wouldn't _move_. But he managed to get to Sam as he collapsed to his knees and Dean fell with him. "Hey, hey. Sam. Sam?" He clutched the younger man's shoulders.

Sam's hands covered his face and he was breathing hard. "Yeah."

He could feel Sam shaking. "What's going on, Sam?" Willed himself not to sound as scared as he felt. Glancing around, he saw that a few spectators had gathered and he helped Sam to his feet.

Sam leaned against the fender of the Impala, stared at the cracking asphalt of the street. How was he supposed to tell Dean that he had visions?

"_Sam._"

He glanced up and met Dean's worried gaze. "I, uh. I have these...visions. They're usually dreams, but a few times they haven't been – like now. But...they're always right."

"Visions."

The worry was still there, just a little, but Sam was relieved to see no skepticism. "I sometimes can see what's going to happen."

"What did you see?"

Sam shook his head. "A guy. Dying. He was locked in his car by something _invisible_. License plate was from Michigan."

"Looks like we're going to Michigan."

**oxoxo**

Jo was closing up the Roadhouse, wiping down the bar, when headlights swept across the wall as a vehicle pulled into the parking lot. _Thank God_, she thought as she went to the window. "I swear, Sam." She pulled back the edge of the curtain and peered outside. "_Oh, shit_." Not Sam. "Shit, shit, shit." She unlocked the door. "Mom, Bobby. Hey. Can I help with anything?"

Ellen eyed her daughter curiously. "Where's your brother?"

"Sam's...he's not here."

"Where is he?"

"I. I don't know."

"Joanna Beth Harvelle, don't you _dare_ lie to me."

"I'm not. I don't know where Sam is. He left yesterday morning with some guy."

Ellen and Bobby exchanged a look. "What guy?"

"Um." Jo's hand slid across her forehead as she thought. "Old Man Murphy said is name was...Winchester. Dean Winchester."

"What?" Ellen's eyes were wide with fear or panic, Jo wasn't sure.

"I don't...Sam wouldn't say where."

Bobby spoke for the first time, approaching Ellen. "He might not..." He eyed Jo. "Why don't you get us a couple beers, huh, Jo?"

She knew he was just trying to get rid of her. "What's going on, guys? Who is he?"

"Jo." Ellen's eyes were still wide, and she shook her head. "Not right now."

She also knew that they'd say nothing else as long as she was there, so she went inside to get the beers Bobby asked for.

"I can't believe this is happening," Ellen said to Bobby, leaning against his truck because she felt that her legs could give out at any moment.

"El, you don't know what's going on for sure."

"What else could it be?" There was an edge of hysteria to her voice. "Bobby, why now?"

"I don't know."

She dug in her pocket for her cell phone, pulled it out and dialed Sam's number. It went right to voicemail. "Sam? Sam it's Mom. You need to call me _right away_, okay, honey? Look, I don't know what he's told you but...I knew his father, and Dean – he could be dangerous, too. Just, just call me, okay? I love you." She pressed 'end' and slid the phone back into her pocket. She knew that Sam wasn't _hers_, that John was his father, but, "I've raised him. For twenty-one years, he's been mine."

Bobby wasn't sure what to say. "In all honesty, Ellen, I'm surprised John hasn't come for him sooner."

"I just wanted to be the one to tell him...I mean, if it came down to it. But not like this. We have to find them." She pushed off the truck and started for the Roadhouse's front door. "Tomorrow, we start hunting for John Winchester."


	8. Chapter 8

**Title**: That Which Was Lost... (8/?)  
**Author**: alakewood  
**Warnings**: Spoilers for _Pilot_ and _Nightmare_. Wincest. AU.  
**Word** **Count**: 2200+  
**Rating**: NC-17  
**Summary**: Sam's vision leads to Saginaw, Michigan, and what appears to be a dead end, isn't.  
**Disclaimer**: As always, I own nothing.  
**A/N**: If you've been following this series, you know that I've been working in things from canon, but I just wanted to warn you that they're not in the same order. I'm pretty much using the storylines to my convenience, trying to stay as true to canon as I can with the direction this story is heading in.

**oxoxo**

Sam scrawled the license plate number from his vision at the edge of the Wyoming state map that was stuffed between the dash and the windshield. As Dean called in the plate number to get an address, using one of his many aliases, Sam dug through the glove box to find a map of Michigan but, surprisingly, Dean didn't have one.

"All right. Thank you," Dean said, nodding and rolling his eyes before he hung up. "We're headed to Saginaw."

"Are you sure? What about your dad?"

Dean bit at his bottom lip and glanced away from Sam. The sooner they went after John, the sooner Sam would go home. He wasn't ready for that. "How often do you have these...visions?" he asked, toeing around Sam's own question.

Sam shrugged. "Not very." He hadn't had a new one since the recurring dream about Dean. "Every few months lately, I guess."

"And they're always right?"

Sam thought of Jess. "Yeah," he answered quietly.

"Then we better check this out before the guy bites it."

"Yeah. We'll have to stop and the library then, MapQuest the way – you don't have a Michigan map."

**oxo**

The drive to Saginaw took much longer than Sam had anticipated, even with Dean going well over the speed limit the whole way. A few blocks from the house, Sam could see the trees lining the street illuminated alternately by red and blue and he knew they were too late. Dean pulled up along the curb half a block away and they joined the growing crowd of neighbors.

"What happened?" Dean asked an older lady who was clutching her robe around herself.

Sam didn't hear the reply, too caught up wondering what the point of having the vision was if he couldn't save the guy.

Dean elbowed Sam gently, interrupting the younger man's thoughts. "Happened just like in your vision. Except they all seem to think it was a suicide."

Sam shook his head, recalled seeing the guy struggling to get out of the car. "I just don't see why I'd see it and then be too late to stop it." He watched as a police officer escorted a woman – the grieving widow, perhaps? – and a teenage kid back into the house. The woman was sobbing hysterically, but the kid's face was blank, and Sam somehow doubted he was in shock.

Uncertain of what to say, Dean just clasped a hand over Sam's shoulder and squeezed gently. "Let's find a hotel. We can dig around in the morning, see if anything weird is going on."

**oxo**

The only thing Dean found weird was the kid, Max, with whom Sam got to spend some quality time. Everything else checked out normal – but Dean's instincts told him that there was _something_ going on, regardless.

When Sam had another vision – this time, it was the victim's brother – Dean wondered if they were, maybe, dealing with a poltergeist. Maybe the Miller brothers had recently killed somebody whose ghost was now hell-bent on revenge. It was the only thing that made sense. Well, except that the EMF didn't flare up when he'd been out in the garage. He couldn't think of any other possibilities.

But Sam did, and it all pointed to the kid.

Dean didn't quite believe in telekinesis until a gun, suspended by nothing in midair, was pointed at his face. Max was talking away but Dean was trying to figure out how to get the gun, so he didn't really hear much of what Max was saying until he heard "Yellow-Eyed man."

In the end, Sam save him and Max ended up dead, thanks to his step-mother.

"Are you okay?" Sam kept asking, between the Miller's house and the motel. "Are you sure?"

"Yeah, Sam, I'm fine." He wiped at the blood on his face – blood that was not his. "Just need a shower."

Once in their room, Dean headed straight for the bathroom. Sam sat at the edge of the mattress and listened for the water to start. All he could think about was the vision that plagued him while he'd been trapped inside the closet. It was so vivid that it felt more like a memory than a vision; the emotions that had gone through him were all too real. Dean might've been okay, but, at that moment, Sam wasn't and all he wanted was to be near Dean.

Sam sliding into the shower behind him interrupted his thoughts about Max, the Yellow-Eyed man, house-fires, and Sam. The touch of Sam's hands skimming over his soap-slick skin felt so normal. He let Sam turn him around under the spray, as he had a few nights prior, then pressed Sam up against the tile, kissed him hard. "Are _you_ okay, Sam?"

"Better now," Sam smiled, fingers lightly tracing over Dean's back. "Much better." Trailed lower and splayed across Dean's ass, pulling their hips closer together.

Dean kissed Sam again with a little more force, Sam's head thudding hollowly against the tile. "Sorry," Dean apologized, grinning. Then, "Are you still sore?"

Sam looked confused.

"From the last time I fucked you."

Sam stared down at Dean, eyes dark with lust, as his tongue swept over his bottom lip. "Nope. Feel _great_." He thrust into Dean's him. "What've you got in mind?"

"Turn around," Dean ordered.

Sam obeyed, standing with his legs slightly spread.

"Fuck, Sam," he groaned, sliding a finger down the cleft of Sam's ass, gently probing the puckered flesh. "Can't get enough of you."

Sam pressed back towards the finger. "Please, Dean," he begged.

When Dean was finally buried inside Sam again, he rested his forehead against Sam's shoulder and sighed. He was definitely okay now.

The water temperature was spotty, lukewarm most of the time but it would suddenly become scalding hot or icy cold. It only served to heighten Dean's sense of touch, made him more aware of Sam's body as he kept a torturously slow, but nonetheless rough, pace and he jerked Sam to the same agonizing speed. He just wanted to take his time and to _feel_.

Sam leaned against the cool tile of the shower for support, elbow to wrist of his left arm, palm of his right hand – and every time Dena went _just that much_ deeper, his fingers flexed, tips turning white as he tried to hold on. He let his head fall against his forearm as Dean slowly fucked him, wanting go faster or harder, but wanting Dean to just do whatever he wanted, too.

The water went cold and stayed cold, which prompted Sam to say, "I'd like to come before I end up with hypothermia." It wasn't out of boredom, but out of need. He heard Dean laugh, but it was his hard, deep thrust that was more of a response.

As Dean quickened his pace, his hand stopped moving on Sam's cock. When Sam made to jerk himself off, Dean grabbed his wrist and, with one hand, held both of them above Sam's head. "Don't move." One of Dean's hands continued to grip Sam's hip while the other – the one that had been holding Sam's wrists – went to Sam's dick. Dean's middle finger and thumb formed a tight ring at the base. "You don't come until I say so."

Every thrust, Dean hit Sam's prostate, and Sam felt the heat and tension pooling in his groin. "God, Dean."

"Sam," Dean panted, "Sam, Sam," driving home again and again, then finally he stilled, coming hard inside of Sam. He managed to keep a firm grip on Sam's dick and, when he was able to form coherent speech again, he told Sam, "When you turn around, I'm gonna suck your dick. Then you can come."

Sam groaned and turned slowly, watching as Dean sank to his knees. Dean swallowed him and sucked almost painfully hard, but Sam couldn't come – felt it burning in his belly, the ache for release. His fingers slid through Dean's wet hair, holding him there. Their eyes met and Dean's thumb gently pressed the taut skin behind Sam's balls and Sam came forcefully, his knees nearly buckling beneath him. Dean held him steady, sucked him dry, then let him slide down the bottom of the shower.

They stayed there for endless moments, tangled together on the shower floor, Dean blocking most of the chilly spray. "_You're_ gonna get hypothermia," Sam mused. "We should dry off." But he made no move to get up.

Dean reached behind him to turn off the water, but it took him a couple more minutes to haul himself up and climb out of the shower. He scrubbed at his hair with a towel, then wrapped it around his hips. He held another clean one out towards Sam. "Here."

Sam grunted with effort as he got up and took the offered towel. "Thanks." He followed Dean out of the bathroom, drying off as he walked, and watched as Dean dropped his towel at the foot of the bed before climbing in. Sam followed suit, situating himself under the sheet and bedspread, close to, but not touching, Dean. "What's up?" he asked, noting the distant expression on Dean's face.

Dean just shook his head. "Just thinking."

"How can you be thinking after _that_?"

He chuckled and pulled Sam close, kissing him hungrily. "You kind of interrupted my thoughts earlier."

Sam nodded. "What are you thinking about, then?"

"Stuff. Something that Max said – it's kind of bringing up stuff from when I was a kid."

"Oh." Sam stared at him intently. "Like what?"

"I lost my mom when I was four – we had a house fire and I could almost swear that my dad put my brother in my arms and told me to get out of the house. But I don't remember anything about my brother _except_ for that. If I even _had_ a brother." He paused. "Max said something about a Yellow-Eyed man – the thing that killed my mother was a Yellow-Eyed Demon. Max's mother died in a house fire-"

"You don't think Max Miller was your brother?"

"No," Dean answered quickly. "No, but I think whatever happened to him is what happened to my brother. Maybe he's still out there somewhere. He'd be about Max's age. About _your_ age. Maybe the same thing happened to you – with your visions, you know?"

Sam shook his head vehemently. "My mother is still alive."

But Dean noticed that he hadn't denied anything about the Yellow-Eyed man. "You've seen him, then? Yellow-Eyes?"

_Shit_, Sam thought. He didn't want to get into this with Dean, especially not when he'd been so content just five minutes ago. "A couple of dreams."

"He tell you the same things he told Max? About preparing you? About a war?"

Sam shook his head slowly. "Just that I was _special_."

Dean was silent for a long moment. "We'll head to Jericho tomorrow. My dad should be able to help us with the Yellow-Eyed Demon. Maybe find out what's happening to you, with the visions." Then, as an afterthought, "Maybe you're adopted."

"No. No, there's no way. My mom wouldn't hide something like that from me."

"It's the kind of thing parents would keep secret as long as they could until their kids started questioning it," Dean argued.

"_She_ wouldn't."

"Are you sure?"

There were a lot of things that Ellen Harvelle refused to discuss, but Sam couldn't believe that she wasn't his mother, that Jo wasn't his sister. But now, he was starting to question it. She'd always been so over-protective and when he'd gone away to school, she had freaked out – not in a normal single-mother-of-a-kid-going-away-to-college kind of way, but a very not normal way – and Sam didn't know what it was about. Now, he thought, there was a chance that she was just afraid that he'd discover that he wasn't her son. He shook his head. There was no way that could be true. He couldn't believe it. So he finally answered Dean, "Yes, I'm sure."

Dean had seen the doubt on Sam's face. Watched the emotions slip from conflicted to confusion to denial. "Well, once we find my dad, we'll have lot more answers."

Sam hoped Dean was right and hoped Dean was wrong, and just hoped he could keep Dean safe.


	9. Chapter 9

**Title**: That Which Was Lost... [9/?]  
**Author**: alakewood  
**Warnings**: Spoilers for _The Benders_. AU. Wincest.  
**Rating**: PG13 for this part, NC-17 over all.  
**Word** **Count**: 2800+  
**Summary**: Sam and Dean leave Michigan behind and start the drive back West. They stop at a bar before they head for a motel, and Sam disappears from the parking lot. Dean, with the help of Deputy Hudak, finds Sam. But the night ends in a very unexpected way.  
**Disclaimer**: As always, I own nothing.  
**A/N**: I'm not going to give a full TWWL recap of how _The Benders_ would've gone in this 'verse, just hitting the major points. As long as you've seen the episode, you should be able to follow along decently. Going into much more detail feels too much like a copyright violation for my taste. Also, I'm practically forcing myself to write more of this story – I've left it unattended so long that it's really hard to get back into – so I'm sorry the chapters are so short.

**oxoxo**

They'd left Michigan that afternoon to start the drive back to Nebraska. Sam hadn't been in the best of moods, given the post-amazing-sex conversation he and Dean had had the night before. So Dean just drove in silence for the most part, keeping the Zeppelin down so he could barely hear it above the sound of the tires on the asphalt and the wind cutting along the body of the Impala. He'd hoped the quiet would get to Sam and get him to talk, but he'd kept his mouth shut as he stared at the window. It was getting dark when Dean pulled off the highway, somewhere in southern Minnesota, and headed towards Hibbing – the only town for miles – where he passed the hotel in search of a bar.

"What is it with you and these podunk bars?" Sam asked, speaking for the first time in hours, as Dean turned off the headlights and cut the engine.

"'Podunk' – your word, not mine. I would've just said 'small-town.'"

Sam rolled his eyes as he waited for an answer.

"Better than big-city bars, you know? Laid-back, decent atmosphere. Besides, you never know what to expect walking into one. Biker bar? Honky-tonk? Mom-and-Pop bar 'n' grill?"

Kugel's Keg turned out to be more of a biker bar than anything, which only reinforced Sam and Dean's unspoken agreement that their relationship or whatever it was between them was secret. They kept their distance from each other and Dean made a point to eye a few of the attractive women at the bar as he and Sam passed. Regardless, Dean felt as though there was a giant, flashing neon arrow pointing at them as he walked through a group of burly, leather-clad guys. He could feel their eyes on his back and thought that 'podunk' would've been better than this. And 'this?' Well, 'backwoods' came to mind.

There were a couple of guys – not bikers, thankfully – that were shooting darts and Dean talked them into a bet. "What are we doing here, Dean?" Sam asked as Dean returned to their table with a beer.

"You weren't exactly being Chatty Cathy and I felt like being social."

"Well, I've kinda got a lot on my mind."

"I can take you to a motel if you want."

"And, what? You'll come back here, leave me there?"

"If you want," Dean repeated, keeping his voice low.

"I think I'll stay then." He made himself comfortable at their table and just people-watched as Dean played his game of darts.

After a couple of hours of more not-talking from Sam, Dean started to feel guilty that he was having a good time. He'd even started to feel at ease among the bikers. But he could see that Sam would rather have been anywhere else, so he went back over to the table and finished his beer. "You ready to go?"

Sam's jaw twitched before he spoke. "I don't know. Are _you_?"

"Just gotta take a leak. Be out in a few." He tossed the keys to Sam and watched Sam leave before he headed for the bathroom.

A blonde at the bar stopped him as he was leaving. "Going so soon? Kenny said you've got quite a dart game – I was hoping to...get in on the action."

Dean laughed at the bad come-on, even though it sounded like something he might've actually used himself. All he could think about was Sam out in the car, waiting. "Sorry, sugar. Got a long, early-morning drive." And a pissed..._boyfriend?_ Was Sam his boyfriend? He pondered that question as he headed out the door. They were having sex - _amazing sex_ - yes. There were, he had to admit, _feelings_ involved. He was dreading taking Sam home, fearing that he'd never see him again – especially since he'd decided that finding his father was something he needed to do on his own.

The car wasn't running, he noted, as he approached it. He thumbed the button on the handle, but it was locked. "Sam. Seriously." He ducked down to peer in the window. The car was empty. "Sam!" His stomach dropped as his gaze darted about the parking lot. All he could think was that he'd willingly let Sam walk out into some sort of narrow-minded, backwoods, homophobic trap. _"Sam!"_

He rounded to the other side of the car and found the keys just lying on the cracked asphalt. Ran back into the bar, formulating the story in his mind as he pushed back through the door. "Where the fire?" the blonde asked.

"My - my friend," he stuttered. "He's gone."

"He did leave, _sugar_."

"No. He's _missing_. He was going out to the car." He held up his keys.

The blonde shared a look with the bartender.

"What?" Dean knew there was nothing good in that shared glance. "The kid's like my brother. _What?_"

"Same thing happened a week ago," the bartender said. "In town. Guy was heading to his car. Just vanished. Nobody's seen him since."

Dean's hands shook as he drove to the motel. First his dad, now Sam. At least there was one thing he could do for Sam that he couldn't do for his father: get real police involved. But he knew the drill. A person had to be gone for a full twenty-four hours before they were considered missing.

Dean didn't know if he could wait that long.

**oxo**

Dean waited as long as he could manage – the second the red LED numbers on the alarm clock beside his motel blinked to _10:00_, he grabbed his keys from the nightstand and headed for the Hibbing Police Department.

"I'm Joe Harvelle. My brother's missing," he told the female deputy that met him in the lobby.

"Where did he disappear from? How long has he been gone?" Deputy Kathleen Hudak asked.

"We were at Kugel's Keg last night – couldn't have been later than eleven. He just disappeared from the parking lot."

Kathleen cocked her head to the side and stared at him. "How old is your brother?"

"Twenty-three."

"Has he done this kind of thing before?"

Dean hesitated in answering that one. _This kind of thing_ - which Dean understood from her tone meant running away – was kind of what Sam was doing with him. "Look, I know what you think, but he was just going out to the car to wait for me. The keys were on the ground next to the car, no Sam. He was just...gone. Now, I heard about some guy that disappeared not too long ago and nobody's seen him since. That's not gonna happen to Sam. I _will_ find him."

**oxo**

They were in Kathleen's patrol car, tailing the squealing truck from the pole-cam video, when the computer on the console between them beeped. She opened the laptop and pressed a few keys as she drove, which Dean thought was a lot more dangerous than talking on a cell phone. Then she glanced at him in a way that made him nervous. "Want to tell me who you really are, _Joe_?" She turned the screen towards him.

Dean found himself looking at a picture of _Jo_. He hadn't known she had a record, but, now that he thought about it, it didn't seem that unlikely. "Okay. He's not my brother. But I've known the kid...forever. He's my responsibility. All I had to do was make sure he got home." He sighed and stared out the window. "And now I don't know if I'll ever see him again."

Sooner or later, Dean's luck was going to run out, but, for the moment, he caught another lucky break with a biased cop. Kathleen had a missing brother herself. She'd help him find Sam, but after that, no promises.

**oxo**

Dean's luck did, in fact, run out and that was how he ended up tied to a chair surrounded by the kind of monster his mind had never been able to comprehend. Backwater, backwoods, inbred, rat-in-a-shithouse crazy, and completely human. Not the least bit supernatural.

He didn't know how he was going to escape and save Sam and the cop, but there _had_ to be a way. He was smarter than these hillbillies, a hell of a lot more clever. All he needed was a decent break.

After Pa sent Lee to kill Sam and Kathleen and didn't return, Dean could feel the time approaching. Pa left Missy in charge of their captive, then he and Jared went to see what was taking Lee so long.

The not-so-harmless little girl and her goddamn knife. If she put that thing near his eye one more time...he could not be held accountable for what he'd do to her. He felt the sharp tip of the blade trace ever so gently around the corner of his eye. Her face was inches from his, staring at the reflection of his eye in the metal, when he took a chance. Rocked back in the chair, catching Missy off guard, ducking and head-butting her in the chest. She fell to the floor, her knife clattering away, and Dean tugged at the ropes binding his wrists. "You shouldn't've done that," she said, head down and staring as Dean freed his arms, then his legs. She was crawling towards him, clutching a short rod in her hand, and he only felt a little guilty for hitting a kid when she raised the rod high above her head. She wheezed and fell again and he lunged for her wrists. She bucked and kicked and screamed as he struggled to hold onto her, finally shoving her into a coat closet where it took quite a bit of his cleverness to hold the door shut while he found something heavy enough to put in front of it.

Getting that whole ordeal out of the way, he headed outside in search of Sam, found him and Kathleen in the yard. It felt like a physical weight was lifted from him at the sight of Sam. His heart twisted in his chest and he couldn't remember ever feeling that happy to see someone in his life. He vowed then and there that he would _never_ put Sam in danger again.

Dean stayed quiet as Kathleen informed them that backup was on the way, that they'd best be on their way and that she's pick them up as she headed back towards town herself.

Sam sensed Dean's heavy mood as they walked up the drive towards the road. "I was kinda scared back there," he admitted.

"You should've been," Dean said, voice harsher than he'd meant it to be. "Look, Sam, I'm taking you home. I'm gonna find my dad by myself."

"You said-"

"I know what I said. But, Jesus Christ, Sam. It's just too dangerous."

"It's okay for you to put your life on the line, but-"

"I _know_ what I'm _doing_. I've done this every day since I've been strong enough to handle the kick-back from a rifle. I was _raised_ for this life – it's what I am. I will not be responsible for something happening to you."

Sam scoffed, shook his head as his teeth scraped over his bottom lip. "Funny. Last I checked, I wasn't a child and nobody was responsible for me except _me_."

"I'm serious, Sam."

"If I hadn't been there when Max-"

"So you saved me once. But if I hadn't been there, I wouldn't've needed saving."

"Because of my vision. So now it's my fault?"

"That's not what I meant," Dean backpedalled, even though that was precisely what he'd meant. "You know that."

"No, Dean. I _don't_ know that. But _you_ know what? I don't care. Take me home. Leave me here. Whatever this is, this thing between us, it's clearly a mistake." His stomach turned at the blatant lie and he was more scared in that moment than when he'd been held in that cage.

He knew it was best to end things before something really did happen to Sam, something he couldn't fix or take back. "You're right."

Sam's stomach rolled again, took his breath away with the fierceness of his fear, made him dizzy with it. He wanted to say, _No, I'm wrong, you're not supposed to agree with me_, but if it was what Dean really wanted, "Then I'll go home."

They didn't speak when Kathleen picked them up, dropped them by the Impala outside the police station, or during the drive to the motel. The full-sized bed looked immense and insignificant all at the same time. Sam didn't know if he could stand being that close to Dean and, at the same time, be so far away. Silently, still, they pulled off jackets and shoes, jeans, shedding layers of clothing, until they were in their underwear and t-shirts and climbed into bed dirty and tired.

Dean was curled on his side at the very edge of the mattress, facing away from Sam; Sam was on his back, staring at Dean. He wanted so badly to reach out and pull Dean to him, but knew that what had happened was necessary. But, still. It couldn't end like this. "Dean," Sam said softly, the slightest bit of pleading in his tone.

"Don't, Sam," was the roughly whispered reply. "Just don't."

So Sam didn't.

**oxoxo**

Sam couldn't remember falling asleep, but it must've been before Dean had because Dean was still asleep. Still curled in on himself at the edge of the bed. He couldn't imagine spending the rest of the day in the tight confines of the Impala with Dean and the remnants of their imploded relationship. He recalled passing a bus station when they'd left the police station the previous night. It would be easier for the both of them if he just left on his own. So he carefully collected his things, grabbed his bag from the car, and scrawled a quick note for Dean. He paused in the doorway, but couldn't find the strength to look back at Dean.

If he had, he would've seen that Dean was awake, watching him go.

It took Dean the better – or worst – part of an hour to drag himself out of the bed. He reached for Sam's note. _Dean,_ it said. _I'm sorry things ended like this. I thought it would be best if I went home by myself, no need to drag you into the family drama I'm sure is waiting for me. I hope you find your dad and that he's okay._ There was something after that, but it was scribbled out. _Good luck. I'm sure our paths will cross again in the future. Sam._

He crumpled the note and threw it away, knowing he'd made the right decision, but feeling like he'd made the wrong one, in deliberately pushing Sam away. But there was nothing he could do about it. The only thing he _could_ do was try to find his father. And the best way to do that was to get the hell out of that motel room with the sheets that still smelled faintly of Sam, and put the whole thing behind him, a fading landscape in his rearview mirror.

So he packed up and left with the hope that with each mile he put between Sam and himself would help him breathe easier. However, with the increasing distance between him and Sam, the pain only grew and Dean wasn't sure if it would ever fade.


	10. Chapter 10

Title: That Which Was Lost... [10/?]  
Author: alakewood  
Warnings: AU. Spoilers for _Faith_ and _Shadow_.  
Rating: PG-13.  
Word Count: ~2200  
Summary: Sam gets on a bus to Chicago and meets a girl named Meg. Dean gets a call from John, who needs his help. Everything comes together and falls apart in Chicago.  
Disclaimer: As always, I own nothing.

**oxoxo**

When Sam got to the bus station in Hibbing, he didn't get on a bus headed back to Nebraska. Instead, he bought a ticket on the earliest bus out – which happened to be going in the opposite direction of home and Dean.

He settled into his seat beside the window, backpack in his lap, wishing for a book to read, and waited for the bus to start moving. He was completely tuned out to his surroundings, not noticing when another passenger took the seat next to his. It wasn't until the corner of something pressed against his arm that he regained his focus on the view beyond his window, only seeing a blur of green fields. He turned around to see who was prodding him with what.

"I thought you were catatonic or something," the girl beside him said. "You okay?"

Sam relaxed back into his seat, sighing. "I'm okay. Yeah."

Her eyebrows arched high and she nodded, clearly not believing him. "I'm Meg," she said, holding up a book. "I think you might need this more than me."

Sam glanced at the heavily-used paperback. _Crime and Punishment._ "I don't think I can focus enough to read Dostoevsky."

Meg nodded and returned the book to her bag, pulling out another. "What about _Dilbert_?"

Sam laughed, somewhat surprised by her diversity in literature. "Thanks, but no."

"Okay." She slid that book into her bag as well and dropped it onto the floor between her feet. "So. You're headed to Chicago?"

"If that's where the bus is going."

"I hope so, otherwise I'm on the wrong one. What's in Chicago? I mean, why're you going there?"

Sam sighed again, not really wanting to make small talk with anybody, let alone a random stranger. "I don't know. It was the first bus out."

"Ah," she said knowingly. "What are you running away from?"

"Who said I was running away?"

"I just...assumed. That's kind of what I'm doing. My family...I just. At some point, you just have to go, you know? I can only take so much. They're overprotective and have these absurd expectations." She shook her head. "They were smothering me. So I decided to leave. I'm gonna visit a friend in Chicago, then I'm headed for California."

Sam nodded, his thoughts involuntarily shifting to Jess. "California's...nice."

**oxo**

Dean was just crossing the Minnesota/South Dakota border when his cell phone rang. His heartbeat started racing as he dug the phone out from beneath a map on the passenger seat. _Sam_, he hoped. But his heartbeat faltered when he read the display. He thumbed the 'send' button and pressed the phone to his ear. "Dad." His other hand shot to the volume knob on the radio and turned down the Metallica. "You're – you're...you're okay."

"Yeah, Dean."

"I was looking for you."

"I know."

"Why'd you-"

"It's not important. I'm in Chicago on a job and..." John sighed as if whatever was coming next was something he was being forced into saying. "And I need your help."

"Yes, sir. Of course."

**oxo**

The trip to Chicago seemed endless and, at some point, Sam had fallen asleep. Dreamt of Dean and the car accident. He startled awake.

"Hey." Meg nudged him with her elbow. "You all right?"

"Yeah. Bad dream."

"You wanna talk about it?"

"Not really."

"I'm not gonna judge you, Sam," she said, her expression hurt as she leaned back in her seat.

That struck Sam as odd – he hadn't told her his name.

**oxo**

Dean met up with John at his father's motel room, and John filled him in on the hunt. "I didn't want to bring you into this, Dean. I really didn't. But I don't think I had a choice because, if for some reason I don't make it through this, I want you to know what you're facing."

"Dad?" Dean wasn't following.

"The murders I'm investigating _appear_ to be werewolf attacks, but everything's wrong. Hearts not missing, wrong time of the lunar cycle." He shook his head. "The victims have all been from Lawrence. It's _not_ a coincidence. I think... The thing that killed Mary – the _demon_ that _killed_ your mother, Dean – I think it's here."

Dean's breath caught in his throat. The bastard was there. His whole life had been leading up to this moment. "What are we waiting for?"

**oxo**

There was something suspicious about Meg, so Sam let her talk him into having a drink with her at a local bar and leaving the following morning.

The stools at the counter, as well as the booths and small tables scattered throughout the bar, were full, so they stood with their drinks as they talked, as Sam waited for her to slip up again. "I just wanted to apologize for my attitude," he said. "I didn't mean to be so...short."

"It's fine," she said, smiling coyly.

"I've just been going through some stuff."

She nodded.

"Kind of the same thing you were talking about earlier, about your family. I'm kind of going through the same kind of thing."

They talked for a while longer, had a few more drinks, then Sam said he should probably head back to the station and told Meg goodnight. He waited across the street in an alley for her to leave the bar, then followed her.

**oxo**

Dean and John were retracing the steps of the last victim as they were detailed in the police report, hoping that there would be something that tied the murders together. Some little piece of overlooked evidence, or a place. Or a person that connected them. "Her," John said suddenly, nodding at a slight young blonde across the street leaving the bar Meredith, the last victim, had worked at. "She worked with the first victim."

"Let's follow her then."

John waited until she rounded the corner before starting his truck and following after. They knew they had something when she headed into an abandoned warehouse. No sane, normal girl would, by herself, be walking around Chicago at such a late hour, let alone go into abandoned buildings.

After a couple of minutes, a window on the third floor lit dimly. John went in the front, following the girl, while Dean headed around back to find another entrance. Dean silently navigated through the darkness, staying close to the building, barely able to see anything but finally found a boarded-up door. He pried back one of the plywood panels and headed inside.

**oxo**

Sam followed Meg to an old, deserted warehouse. He watched her go inside, then snuck around the back to find another way in.

He climbed the stairs just inside the back entrance and stopped at the third floor when he heard Meg's voice. But she definitely wasn't speaking English. He quietly headed towards the sound of her voice, the whole floor seemingly a wide-open space, separated by pillars and heavy sheets of canvas and plastic, apparently abandoned in the midst of a remodel.

A faint light filtered from beneath and between the canvas sheets and Meg's voice sounded as though it was just on the other side of the fabric. Sam stopped and peered through a gap in the material.

Meg was kneeling on an altar, head bowed over a cup.

**oxo**

Dean paused just inside the doorway – he could hear footsteps on the stairs. But they were getting fainter and finally faded into silence. Dean quietly ascended the stairs, pausing again at the third floor landing. Almost as faint as the footsteps had been, Dean heard a voice – a female voice. He followed the voice, staying along the east wall of the open third story, and found himself standing just outside the doorway of a makeshift room separated from the rest of the floor by heavy tarps. From where he stood, he could barely see the far end of the room, where the girl he and John had followed kneeled at some kind of altar. Across from him, in the front stairwell, he saw his father.

It said something about John Winchester that he could give orders without saying a word. With only a look and a gesture, Dean knew what his father wanted him to do. But as he started along the canvas, he saw that he wasn't alone. He had to improvise. He wasn't going to let the girl get away, wasn't going to let his father get hurt, not tonight. Not when they were so close to the demon that killed Mary. He wasn't going to screw this up.

The figure – a man, Dean guessed by the height – stood outside an opening in the tarps. Dean put his shoulder down, kept his head up, and charged. His shoulder connected with the man's lower back and they both went sprawling into the improvised room, startling the girl on the altar. He was vaguely aware of John as he rushed into the room from the left, and acutely aware of the familiar body beneath his. He turned the man over. "Sam."

"_Dean!_" John shouted, heading for the girl who had righted herself and had begun chanting something over a goblet. That was when the shadows started to move.

Dean had never fought anything like it before – wasn't prepared to fight what he couldn't quite see.

"The altar, Dean! Destroy the altar!"

Torn between obeying his father and an unconscious Sam, Dean hesitated. In that brief moment, the girl – more than just a girl, with solid black eyes – advanced on John, held up a hand and John screamed. _Not like this_, was all Dean could think as he started for the altar, shadows swarming Sam's prone body.

As soon as the altar crashed to the floor, the shadows stopped, turned, and attacked the girl. Dean rushed back to Sam's side, watching with horrified curiosity as the shadows forced her out the window.

Groaning, Sam started to come to.

"What's going on, Dean? Who is he?"

Dean couldn't meet his father's eyes. Not yet. "Nobody, sir."

John held a hand to his stomach, wiped at a gash across his forehead with the other. "Not what it looks like from here."

He could hear the disgust in John's voice, couldn't bear to see it on his face, in his eyes, too. But, beside him, Sam wheezed and opened his eyes, stared up at him in confusion, then awe.

"Dean?" he questioned in disbelief.

He kept his face blank. "What are you doing here?"

"I..." It took him a moment to remember. "I followed Meg. There was something off about her. I never told her my name, but she knew it anyway."

"I thought you were going home?"

"I got on the first bus I could, and this is where I ended up."

"Dean." John's voice held a warning.

Sam sat up and glanced at the man glaring at them from across the room. He turned back to Dean. "Is that – is he...?"

"Yeah," Dean replied, climbing to his feet and waiting for Sam to do the same.

They arrived outside, immediately noticing something wasn't right. John cursed. All that was left on the pavement was glass and blood – the body was gone. He pulled Dean aside. "After all this, you let your boyfriend fuck it up." John shook his head, the muscle in his jaw twitching. "You get him cleaned up and then he's getting the hell out of here."

"Dad, I-"

"I don't want to hear it, Dean."

Dean led Sam over to John's truck and pulled a first-aid kit out from behind the passenger's seat. He didn't say a word as he cleaned Sam's wounds and bandaged the worst.

"Dean," Sam said quietly, keeping his eyes downcast. "I'm sorry."

Dean didn't acknowledge him. "We'll drop you off at the bus station." And that was it.

**oxo**

Nihilistic behavior was not a newly developed trait in Dean Winchester. As a matter of fact, it was probably one of the few things that defined him that he also had in common with nearly every hunter he'd ever met. To varying degrees, anyway.

But he'd never been quite as reckless as he was in the weeks after he'd wordlessly left Sam at the bus station in the middle of the night. His new approach to hunting was stupid and dangerous and proved to be nearly fatal: the moment he fired the taser, he realized his mistake.

Reckless, stupid, dangerous; and he couldn't care less. John called once a week with updates; kept it short and to the point, all business, obviously disappointed and still disgusted. And with the way he'd left Sam, he doubted he'd ever be able to salvage what they had.

So it wasn't like he had anything to live for anyhow.

He heard the electricity crackle, felt it seize his body in painful convulsions, his muscles tensing, body curling in on itself as he collapsed to the floor.

He thought he heard Sam call his name, thought he saw him, knew he must be dead or dying.

Then...nothing.

**oxoxo**

A/N: This chapter didn't go quite the way I'd intended it to: things I'd planned on having happen later on just kind of popped in (like John's return) or changed completely (the way in which Sam and Dean were reunited). So, hopefully, this still worked for you, and you're still reading. I know this story's been a work-in-progress for a long time (ten months!), so thanks for sticking with it (and me) for this long! Your reviews are so greatly appreciated whether they're praise or concrit - it's just nice to hear back from you guys. So, again, thank you!


	11. Chapter 11

Title: That Which Was Lost... [11/?]  
Author: alakewood  
Warnings: AU.  
Rating: PG  
Word Count: 1300+  
Summary: Sam returns to the Roadhouse.  
A/N: This chapter is set a month prior to the final scene in the previous part of this series.  
Disclaimer: As always, I own nothing.

**oxoxo**

_One Month Earlier..._

As he disembarked the bus in Cheyenne, after a one-way trip of nearly twenty-eight hours, Sam felt more like a soldier heading for war than a wayward son finally returning home.

This last leg of his journey was like knowing that battle and sure defeat were waiting just beyond the crest of the next hill and Sam was a soldier on the front lines. At least Sam knew better than to underestimate his opponent – in this case, his mother – because it would surely become an issue of first come, first killed. He'd rather take his chances in somewhat evenly matched hand-to-hand combat than willingly face the firing squad. The only difference was in how he would approach his mother about his disappearance.

So, wearily, he departed the terminal shortly before ten PM with an empty wallet. He had no other choice than to start walking for the highway and hope that someone would pick him up because there was no way he'd make it the whole seventy-plus miles back to the Roadhouse without hitching.

He'd only made it a mile or so – just started up the I-80 East exit ramp – when a beat-up Jeep Cherokee pulled onto the shoulder just ahead of him. The passenger's side window rolled down and the driver, a girl about Jo's age, leaned across her companion and called to him. "Hey! Where you headed?"

Sam tried to look as unimposing as possible as he approached the door. "Kimball. It's about an hour east."

"You need a ride?"

"Julie!" the passenger whispered loudly.

"What? Look at him, Stace. Who knows what kind of skuzzy trucker could pick him up?"

"Who's to say he's not, like, some kind of serial killer?"

"Are you a serial killer?" Julie asked, leaning closer to the window, smile widening at her friend's snort of disbelief.

"No," Sam replied, returning her smile – a genuine smile for the first time since he'd been with Dean in Hibbing – as he adjusted his bag. "But she's right: you don't know anything about me."

"See!"

"Stacey. Seriously." Julie returned her attention to Sam. "I'm Julie, and that's Stacey. Get in."

"I'm Sam," he said, looking pointedly at Stacey.

Stacey sighed. "Whatever."

Sam squeezed in the backseat behind Stacey, shoving over the girls' bags, and situating his own on the floor between his feet. "I really appreciate this, thank you."

Julie did most of the talking as they sped down the interstate, Sam focused on what he was going to say to his mother and trying not to think about Dean. "Where am I turning?" Julie asked as they entered Kimball.

"You can just drop me off wherever. I live a couple miles outside of town. I can walk the rest of the way."

"It's, like, eleven. We'll drop you off."

"Really: you've already gone out of your way; you can just drop me here."

"Sam. It's not that much further."

Sam paused. "Okay." He directed them to the Roadhouse on a county road just off of 71. "Thanks again," he said as he climbed out of the backseat and reached for his bag.

"It wasn't a problem, really."

It was at that point that Hal Garrison, a rough-looking hunter with a scar running from above his left eye to the right side of his nose, stumbled out of the bar and lurched towards the Jeep. He recognized Sam almost instantly. "Sammy-boy," he slurred. "Welcome back! Haven't seen you 'round in a while."

"Yeah," Sam said offhandedly. "Take it easy, Hal."

Stacey shared a worried glance with Julie. "Uh...you're welcome, Sam. Nice meeting you." Then she all but peeled out of the gravel lot.

Sam stood in the parking lot, alone, slowly breathing in the familiar scent of the fields and gravel dust as he steeled himself for the impending argument with his mother. However, when he entered the Roadhouse, it wasn't his mother behind the bar: it was Ash.

Ash's eyes went large and he spun around, his mullet streaking comically behind him, and barreled through the door to the back room.

The door burst open violently half a moment later as Jo strode through, a disbelieving scowl on her face that he was accustomed to seeing on their mother. Ash followed behind her, looking guilty and ashamed even though there was no reason for it – it wasn't like Sam would've come into the Roadhouse and expected Jo to ignore his sudden reappearance. "Uh, hey, Jo. Ash." Sam didn't quite know what he was supposed to say. He was thankful, at least, that he didn't have to deal with Ellen just yet.

Jo scoffed and grabbed the front of Sam's jacket and man-handled him past Ash and into the back room. "Where the _hell_ have you been, Sam?"

"Around. Where's Mom?"

Jo folded her arms tightly across her chest, a sure sign that she was trying her hardest to keep her anger in check. "She and Bobby went looking for you and that Dean Winchester." She spit out Dean's name like he was the vilest person she'd ever met. "They were headed to Chicago last I knew."

Sam's stomach flopped. "What?"

"Yeah. Bobby got a tip that that was where John Winchester – who wasn't exactly _missing_, by the way – was headed. And I knew that _Dean_," again with the sneer, "was "looking" for him." With the use of air quotes and a certain inflection on a couple of choice words, Jo managed to express that she thought there was some kind of hidden agenda behind Dean's story.

"It wasn't like that, Jo."

"Oh, really? Then what _was_ it like, Sam? Actually, honestly? I don't wanna know. I don't _care._ I was worried about you, you know? The whole leaving without saying where you're going thing – that's not you, Sam. It's not."

"I don't expect you to understand-"

"I don't expect you to _explain_ whatever crazy reason you had for just going off with him. I just expected you to be a little less stupid is all. I mean..." She paused, looking slightly torn.

"What do you mean by that?"

"I mean...Well...After you left, I was in your room and, well..."

"Well?" Sam asked, mind running through reasons for this small detour their argument had taken. He tried to think of anything that would've brought on the accusation that he had behaved stupidly, the only thing – Sam thought his heart had stopped for a moment. He shook his head. "You didn't."

"It was there. I was putting it away and I was curious so I opened it and...How was I supposed to stop myself, Sam? You just randomly leave with some guy and won't say a thing about why so I just..." She shrugged. "Old Man Murphy said that Dean and his dad were the best hunters he'd ever seen and all I could think was that they knew about you. That, somehow, they _knew_. And I didn't know what to do. I couldn't tell Mom. I tried calling you but, obviously, you never answered."

"You read my journal," Sam said incredulously.

"Like I said, you didn't tell me anything! You wouldn't answer your phone! Jeez, Sam, what does it matter anyway? It's not like I'm gonna _tell_."

Sam sighed, conceding, "I know."

"Look – there's something else." Jo's arms fell to her sides, her anger dissipating. "When Mom and Bobby were talking about Dean and his dad, they wouldn't say anything in front of me. It seemed like...I don't know. Like there's a lot more to Mom's being upset than just that you left. Like there's a whole other piece to the story. Mom and Bobby have to know them somehow."

Biting at his lip in thought, he nodded. "How could they not, though? I mean, there can't be many hunters that haven't been through here, right?"

"Exactly. So why didn't we know them? Especially if they're as good as Murphy seemed to think."

Sam shrugged. "I don't know."

"Well...I guess I should probably call Mom, let her know you're not dead or anything." This she said with a hint of a smile, perhaps starting to forgive Sam for disappearing as he had. "I'll get the place cleared out before, so you better get thinking about what you're gonna tell her. 'Cause I can guarantee you 'sorry' isn't gonna cut it."


	12. Chapter 12

Title: That Which Was Lost... [12/?]  
Author: alakewood  
Warnings: Spoilers for _Faith_ and _In My Time of Dying_.  
Rating: PG-13  
Word Count: 2800+  
Summary: Sam has a slight confrontation with Ellen when she returns home; Sam and Jo have a conversation which ends with a realization by Jo; Sam goes to stay with Bobby to learn how to hunt (with questionable motives) and has a vision.  
Disclaimer: As always, I own nothing.

**oxoxo**

Sam stood behind the bar, eyes trained nervously on the front door as he idly washed and rinsed beer mugs and glasses, waiting for the bright wash of headlights to fill the dim of the Roadhouse.

Jo had called their mother the night before to relay the news of Sam's return and he had been able to hear Ellen through the phone from across the counter.

_Jo pulled the phone away from her ear with a roll of her eyes, pressing the receiver against her chest. "If you weren't my brother," she began, "you'd have to find somebody else to stall for you." When they could no longer hear Ellen's voice, Jo put the phone back to her ear. "No, Mom, he's up at the house now...Look, I can either- either have him call you back, or you can just talk to him when you get home tomorrow night. That way-...That way you can figure out what you're gonna say-...I_ know _that arguments are part of the Harvelle family dynamic, but-...Look, we're not_ children _anymore. We-...He'll talk to you tomorrow, Mom, okay? Love you. Bye." Jo hung up the phone, which promptly rang a couple of seconds later. "Mom, seriously! What good will it do if you yell at him and piss him off and he leaves again?" She paused to let that sink in. "I'll see you when you get here. Drive safe." She hung up the receiver again and pointed at Sam: "Devil," then to herself, "advocate. You owe me big time. She's still_ really _pissed."_ so _much for holding Mom off for me. You're the best sister ever!"_

Sam hugged her with over-exaggerated enthusiasm. "Thank you

She shoved Sam away, laughter betraying her scowl. "You're a freak."

"You about done?" Jo asked, startling Sam out of his memory.

"Oh. Yeah."

"She'll be home soon, if she isn't already."

"I know." He let the water out of both sinks as Jo turned off the rest of the lights.

"Have you figured out what you're gonna tell her?" she questioned as they started across the field towards the house.

"I'll probably start with 'sorry,' even though I'm not."

"And even though she totally won't believe you?"

"Well...I'm sorry it upset her as much as it did." He was quiet for a long moment as Ellen's truck, parked beside his car in the driveway, came into view. "I had my reasons for leaving like I did and she wouldn't be able to understand even if I could explain them to her."

"You gonna try to explain them to me?" Jo asked as they approached the front door, Sam remaining silent even as she stared at him. "That's what I thought." She flung the door open, calling out, "Sam's home!" before disappearing into the kitchen.

A door opening to his right alerted Sam to Ellen's presence. She pulled the sash of her robe tight around her waist as she left her bedroom. "Where the _Hell_ have you been, Sam? What the Hell were you _thinking_, leaving like that? Were you even thinking at all?"

"I was fine the whole time, Mom. I was with a friend."

Jo scoffed as she entered the living room and headed for the stairs. "I'm sure that's all he is," she said, mostly to herself.

But Sam and Ellen both heard her offhand comment, simultaneously questioning, "_What?_" for very different reasons.

Jo paused on the stairs and turned to look at her brother, noting that the expression on their mother's face was more afraid than shocked, which set off that feeling that her mom and Bobby knew more about the Winchesters than they were letting on. She stared at Sam for a minute then shrugged her shoulders. "Nevermind," she said and continued on her way.

Ellen turned to Sam, worried expectation written into the shallow lines on her face. "What did she mean by that?"

He didn't plan on going into _that_ with Jo, much less his mother. He shook his head, still staring up the stairs after Jo. "I don't know. Me and Dean? We were just friends." He returned his attention to Ellen. "He came into the Roadhouse looking for his dad and I...I thought I could help. We got into this argument and went our separate ways and somehow both ended up in Chicago which is where his dad found _him_. He left me at a bus station and...here I am." The pain of the rejection – provoked even by the Cliff's Notes version – twisted in his chest and stole his breath.

The worry on Ellen's face melted into relief as though she'd expected a different story. "You've been gone a week...That's all that happened?"

Sam shrugged. It had seemed like much longer than that. "Yeah...Mom, look: I'm sorry that I just disappeared and...it won't happen again."

Ellen sighed. "You're old enough that..." She trailed off, changing her mind. "You just need to be careful, Sam. All these hunters? You can't trust half of what they say. They're mostly all just looking out for themselves."

He wanted to tell her that he _knew_ Dean was different, even if the evidence argued the contrary. "Yeah. I'm gonna- gonna go to bed, all right?"

"Okay." Ellen hesitated before pulling Sam down to her for a hug. "I love you – nothing's _ever_ gonna change that." She stroked Sam's hair like she had when he was a child. "Goodnight."

Sam studied her for a moment, slightly confused by the sad set of her eyes. "Night, Mom. Love you, too."

**oxo**

During the first week of Sam's being back home, Jo noticed a significant change in her brother. He was withdrawn and unusually quiet. She wasn't sure if it was that being at the Roadhouse, surrounded by hunters, was like a constant reminder of Dean Winchester, or if it was a mood he'd taken to beyond the bar's four walls. It had been the only place she'd been able to see him, so she took it upon herself to visit Sam for lunch at the diner he worked at during the day.

The bells strung to the door announced her entrance and everyone turned to stare. Old Man Murphy gave her a smile and a nod as she passed him, heading towards the counter. The last empty seats were the stools near the register and Jo took one, smiling at Verle when he recognized her, arching his thick, gray eyebrows in surprise. "Jo! It's been too long since the last time you stopped by. How have you been?"

"Oh, not too bad. And yourself?"

"Still kickin'," he said with a wink. "I suppose you're here to see that mopey brother of yours?"

"Yes, sir."

"It's coming up on his lunch break...did you want to order something?"

Jo took the menu he offered and ordered lunch just as Sam came out of the kitchen with a tray of plates. He did a double-take as he passed her and stopped.

"Jo? What are you doing here?"

"I was hungry so I came to get some lunch. What are you doing here?"

Sam rolled his eyes and went back to work, serving brunch to an elderly couple at a table by the window.

"Actually," Jo said when Sam returned with his empty tray, "I wanted to talk to you. Verle said you've got a break soon, so I ordered you lunch, too."

"Thanks." He disappeared into the kitchen and came back with their lunches, placing one plate in front of Jo and the other in front of the empty stool beside her. Sam rounded the counter and took vacant stool next to Jo.

Jo took a bite of her burger trying to figure out what, exactly she wanted to say to her brother. "You seem," she paused, making a face, "...sad. What's going on with you?"

Sam shrugged, picking up half of his turkey club. "I'm not _sad_, I just...I don't know." He swirled a couple of fries through the puddle of ketchup on his plate. "Dean took me on a hunt." He glanced at Jo to gage her reaction – she stared at him with wide eyes, but didn't say anything. "A couple, actually. The first one was pretty easy. Just a ghost haunting an old folks' home. The second..."

"The second...?" Jo prompted.

"Was because of me. We were having breakfast at this diner and I...I had a vision. Like, right in front of him."

"He knows."

"Yeah."

"Sam."

"I know, Jo. But he's not gonna tell anyone."

She just shook her head. "You can't know that."

"He won't, Jo. Just like I know you won't. I trust him."

She scoffed, shaking her head again. "You only knew the guy for a _week_, Sam."

"Like I said before: you wouldn't understand."

"No, and I never will 'cause you'll never try to explain it."

"I think...I'm gonna tell Mom that I want to stay with Bobby for a while. See if he can teach me a few more things about hunting."

"You are unbelievable, Sam. The guy _ditched_ you at a _bus station_ and you-" She stopped abruptly and stared at Sam. "You and him...you...?" She'd only been kidding the other night when she's made the comment about their friendship being more than friendship. Knew there was definitely some sort of idol worship going on – Sam had always been intrigued by the hunters that came through the Roadhouse, and their stories. So Jo had assumed that it was the same kind of fascination that made him leave with Dean, especially the fact that they were only a few years apart in age, but... It made so much sense now. And she surprisingly wasn't disgusted. Just really, really disappointed that he didn't think she would understand. "Thanks for trusting me," she said as she slid off her stool, digging in her pocket for money, laying enough on the counter between their plates to cover the bill. "Have fun at Bobby's. I hope you find whatever it is that you're looking for."

**oxo**

Jo had seemed almost as surprised as Sam when Ellen agreed to his proposal about going to stay with Bobby and learning how to hunt. Sam guessed her change of attitude had a lot to do with the fact that Bobby would be able to keep an eye on him twenty-four-seven and that if, for some reason, Dean (or his father) happened into the Roadhouse, Sam wouldn't be around for it.

And he agreed wholeheartedly with Jo's theory that Ellen and Bobby knew something about the Winchesters that they were keeping secret. Sam hoped to uncover whatever that was.

The first night at Bobby's, Sam's as-yet-non-prophetic dream of Dean's car accident returned, but in reverse. It _started_ with Dean already dead and cycled backwards. It was moving too fast to make much sense of and he awoke abruptly with an inexplicable case of vertigo.

He tried to remember the dream, but only pieces remained. _Dean's lifeless body slouched in the compacted front seat of the Impala. John shooting a man in the head with a gun – the wound fissuring open with a red-orange light, and the man crumpled to the ground._ This was a new image. He focused harder. _Dean and his father in an argument._ That was all he could get.

Every night after, the dream began the same way, with Dean dead, battered body crumpled in the front seat of the Impala. But, every night, little details would change. A week after being at Bobby's, the argument that John and Dean had ended with Dean leaving and going off on his own. The dream just kept changing until the accident didn't happen. Dean just kept driving.

"You been sleeping alright, kid?" Bobby asked one afternoon as he and Sam sat across from each other at the table in the dining room, books piled and open, in research mode. There was some kind of Dakota water-spirit causing trouble in a recreation area on the Big Sioux.

"The past couple weeks, no. But I slept okay last night. Why?"

"You look like you haven't slept in _days_."

"I feel fine," he said, a sudden yawn giving away his bluff before Bobby could call him on it.

"Really?"

"Yeah. Just keep having this dream. But I'm okay, Bobby."

Bobby eyed him with a slight hesitance. "Okay." And that was the end of it. They went back to research.

The dream didn't return for few days, but when it finally did, it had changed again and was no longer happening in reverse. _Dean stopped the car in front of a small, one-story house, got out and went to the trunk, retrieving his gun and small object. It was dark and rainy, but Dean was still quiet and cautious when entering the house. He did a quick sweep of the main floor before he headed down to the basement. There was a small noise from a cabinet near the stair, Dean threw the doors open, gun drawn – but it was just two kids. He'd barely gotten the children to the safety of the upstairs before something reached through the riserless steps and grabbed at Dean's ankle and he somersaulted backwards down the stairs. He landed with a small splash in the shallow water and the foot of the steps, reaching for his loose gun and aiming it at the space beneath the staircase. Something rustled in the darkness to his left and he followed it with the gun as he got to his feet._

What happened after that was a blur.

_The thing came at Dean, knocked him into the far wall, into a deep puddle. As it came at him, Dean produced the small object he'd taken from the Impala's trunk, and pointed it at the monster. Something shot out of the end of the object and lodged itself into the creature. There was a crackle of electricity-_ and that was where it ended.

**oxo**

Sam was at the dining room table, laptop in front of him, doing background research on a haunting in Brandon while waiting for Bobby to return from a fried chicken and supply run. He heard the familiar sound of tires on gravel as Bobby pulled up to the house and stood to go help Bobby bring things in. But as he rose, the room spun, his vision blurring and going dark, a deep almost stabbing pain from behind his eyes to his temples. It forced him to his knees. He clutched at his head, barely aware of Bobby entering the house.

_Something rustled in the darkness to Dean's left and he followed it with the gun as he got to his feet. The thing came at Dean, knocked him into the far wall, into a deep puddle. As it came at him, Dean produced the small object he'd taken from the Impala's trunk, and pointed it at the monster. Something shot out of the end of the object and lodged itself into the creature._

"Sam! _Sam_, can you hear me?" Bobby was crouched beside him, trying to get his attention, but failing.

_There was a crackle of electricity, the prongs of the taser anchoring in the monster's flesh and electrocuting it. The charge traveled through the water and into Dean – his body convulsed for a few long seconds then stopped. And he didn't move again. Not until EMT's arrived and pulled his body from the water and carefully maneuvered him up the stairs and into the waiting ambulance._

One EMT strapped Dean into the gurney in the back, another cut open his shirt while the first had moved around to Dean's head, fitting a mask over his mouth and nose, pumping air into his empty lungs. The one that had cut open Dean's shirt was readying the defibrillator, placed the pads on Dean's bare chest when the machine was fully charged. _He called "Clear!" and Dean's body arched against the restraints as electricity coursed through his body for the second time. The EMT's worked in tandem to revive the lifeless, nameless body strapped to the gurney._

Sam's vision ended in the middle of the EMT's attempt to resuscitate Dean and, with Bobby's help, he made it back into his chair.

"What was that about, kid?" Bobby questioned, curious but wary.

"I...I-I'm not sure. I just need to- need to sit." He couldn't think, not when he was _certain_ that the vision that had once been his dream would become a _reality._

He'd been unable to stop his other visions from being actualized.

Jess had died. Max's father had died.

Dean would die, too.


	13. Chapter 13

Title: That Which Was Lost... [13/?]  
Author: alakewood  
Warnings: Spoilers for _In My Time of Dying._  
Rating: PG  
Word Count: ~1470  
Summary: Sam eavesdrops on one of Bobby's phone calls and learns that it's John Winchester on the other end of the line and he's asking for Bobby's help regarding Dean. Sam follows him to the hospital.  
Disclaimer: As always, I own nothing.

**oxoxo**

Bobby had helped Sam up to his room shortly after Sam's vision. And Sam had stayed there until the weakness in his knees had disappeared. There was no way he could even _attempt_ to rest while Dean was hurt and dying – if he wasn't already dead. But Sam wouldn't let himself think like that. _Couldn't_ think like that.

Cautiously, Sam sat up, anticipating the dizziness that always followed the visions. He took a moment to breathe and gather his thoughts. He needed to find Dean. But _how?_

With hands braced against either side of the stairwell, Sam slowly made his way back downstairs. At the landing halfway down, the phone rang and was picked up almost immediately. But Bobby was speaking so quietly Sam couldn't hear the conversation. Sam crept out to the dining room getting as close to the kitchen as he could. He was shocked by what he heard.

"...I understand that Dean's in trouble, but how am I supposed to help, John?" Bobby questioned in a harsh whisper.

Sam's heart thudded violently in his chest, the sound of blood rushing in his ears so loud he could barely hear Bobby speaking. Bobby knew Dean's father. Bobby knew _Dean._

"What do you expect- John, these herbs...they're not for a protection spell – they're for a _summoning_. What are you going to do?" There was a pause. Sam peered around the doorway to see Bobby standing near the phone, arms crossed tightly over his chest, phone clenched in one hand and a torn piece of paper in the other. Bobby returned the phone to his ear. "I _understand_ that he's your son, but is this really the way-" Another pause. The tense hunch of Bobby's shoulders relaxed as he sighed. "Of course. Where are you?...It'll take me a little while to get all this together. Some of it I have here, but the rest...I'll be there in the morning."

Sam coughed into the crook of his elbow as he entered the kitchen. "Who was that?" he asked nonchalantly, taking a glass down out of the cupboard and filling it with water from the tap.

"Nobody. I got some errands I need to run-"

"Need any help?"

"After your little episode earlier, I think you should just stay put and try to get some sleep. I"ll be back tomorrow afternoon."

"I feel fine now. You sure you don't need any help?"

"Yes, Sam. Stay put. I'll see you tomorrow."

Bobby gave him a long stare before heading out of the kitchen. Sam stayed put for the moment, but as soon as he heard the engine of Bobby's car turn over, he rushed to gather his wallet and phone and his shoes from beside the front door. He pushed aside the edge of the curtains to peer out the front window and watch to see which way Bobby turned at the end of the gravel lane. He shoved his feet into his shoes and rushed back out to the kitchen for a set of keys.

On the counter there were four sets of keys – one of which belonged to the the '82 Camaro Bobby had finished fixing up the previous week. Sam found the key and ran out to the salvage yard and over to the worse-for-wear car near the shop. It might've _looked_ bad, but Bobby completely revamped the engine and the car sounded like a dream. Sam sped down the drive and took a sharp left onto the highway, following after Bobby.

After two hours of driving, Bobby made his first stop at a shop on the outer edges of a town in Iowa. Sam parked a few storefronts down across the street and watched Bobby enter. The paint on the sign hanging above the door was chipped and peeling and Sam could barely make out "Gardens of Babylon." He squinted and could faintly see "herbs, flowers, and" something else.

Bobby returned ten minutes later with something under his arm. His watchful gaze swept up and down the empty street before he got back into his car and pulled away from the curb.

Sam waited until Bobby disappeared around the corner and followed.

Half an hour later, Bobby turned off the highway again. Sam noticed signs identifying the area as the Winnebago Indian Reservation. He stopped at the corner of one street and turned his headlights off, watching as Bobby's car slowly passed house after house until the porch light of one turned on and Bobby pulled up in front of it. A young man came down off the porch and shook Bobby's hand with both of his. There was a short conversation, then the man handed Bobby what looked like a small plastic bag. They shook hands again and the man place a hand on Bobby's shoulder. Bobby's head bowed, the bill of his cap casting a dark shadow on his face in the light from the porch. Bobby nodded and the man's hand fell to his side. Then Bobby walked away.

Sam waited until Bobby's taillights vanished at the end of the block and the light on the porch went out and, again, he followed.

It was shortly before daybreak when Bobby pulled off the highway again. Sam followed him along the outskirts of town until he realized that the journey was nearly over. A hospital loomed in the distance. He didn't need to follow Bobby anymore so he stopped, right in the middle of the street, and he breathed. This was it.

The hospital wasn't large, the parking lot small and nearly empty, and it didn't take Sam long to find Bobby's car and he parked in a space at the very edge of the lot with a clear view of the hospital entrance and Bobby's car.

The sun was just rising above the horizon, the clear sky a hazy blue fading into blazing orange and red. Bobby appeared nearly twenty minutes later, empty-handed. Sam watched him get back into his car and pull his cap off his head, rubbing at his face with his palms. He sat there a moment longer before he pulled his hat back on and started the car.

Sam waited until Bobby was gone before he climbed out of the Camaro and started for the hospital entrance. He'd barely made it inside when a nurse stopped him. "Excuse me, sir? Visiting hours don't start for another," she glanced at her watch, "five hours. Please come back then."

"But...I'll be quick. I just want to make sure my friend's okay."

"Come back at eleven," she said, placing a gentle but firm hand on his arm.

He didn't want to leave, but he didn't have much choice. A male nurse came out of the hallway next to the nurse's station. "Pam, is there a problem?" He crossed muscled arms over his broad, SpongeBob-patterned scrubs-covered chest.

"I've got it under control, Luis." Pam looked pointedly at Sam. "Come back at eleven," she repeated.

Sam sighed, raking his fingers through his unwashed hair. "Fine. I'll be back at eleven." He stalked back out the the Camaro and climbed back inside. He rolled the windows down and slid the seat all the way back then dug his cell phone out of his jeans pocket. He set the alarm for 10:55 am and leaned back against his seat. He tried to think of how he was going to save Dean, _if_ he could save Dean.

The last thing that ran through his mind just before he fell asleep was the image of Dean's face as they said their goodbyes at the bus station in Chicago. Dean's eyes couldn't meet his, stayed downcast and empty in the expressionless mask he wore. "_Just say it, Dean. I get the impression that this is nothing new to you,"_ Sam had said angrily. "_It really shouldn't be that difficult, considering how fast you jumped to do what your father asked you. Obviously, none of this meant anything to you. _I _didn't mean anything to you. So just say it."_

But Dean didn't say a word, the first crack appearing in his carefully constructed facade, his chin quavering slightly as he exhaled a breath Sam hadn't been aware he'd been holding. Dean shook his head. "No. I won't."

"Then I will. Goodbye." Then he'd boarded the bus, not looking back.

But, as the bus had pulled away, Sam chanced a look out his window. The last thing that Sam saw just before he fell asleep what the image of Dean's face as they said their goodbyes at the bus station in Chicago. The expression of pure heartache that was there.

Sam couldn't let that be their last goodbye.


	14. Chapter 14

**Title**: That Which Was Lost... [14/?]  
**Author**: alakewood  
**Warnings**: Spoilers for _Faith_ and _In My Time of Dying_.  
**Rating**: PG (this part)  
**Word** **Count**: ~970  
**Summary**: Sam returns to the hospital as soon as visiting hours begin and runs into John outside of Dean's hospital room.  
**Disclaimer**: As always, I own nothing.

**oxoxo**

The last time Sam had been inside a hospital was when Jo had fallen off the monkey bars on the playground after school when she was seven. Back then, he didn't associate any particular feelings with hospitals – just knew that it was where sick people went to get better and where broken things got fixed.

Now, though, he knew better than that. Knew that not everybody that went in would come out alive. That not everything could be made better or be fixed. He'd seen it in his first vision of Dean – in the most recent one, too. The sound of the heart-monitor as Dean's heartbeat flatlined...it wasn't something Sam thought he could ever forget.

But, as of the night before, Dean was still alive. For how much longer, Sam couldn't be certain.

He strode through the main entrance again, heading for the nurses station where Pam sat behind a computer. She glanced up at him, then at the clock on the wall which read 11:03. "Okay. What's your friend's name?" she asked, fingers poised above the keyboard.

"Dean Winchester. He came in last night."

The keys clicked quietly as she typed Dean's name into the computer. She let her gaze flick up to Sam again, briefly, then returned her stare to the monitor. It was a long moment before she could look Sam in the eye. "He's in room 217. Second floor, end of the hall on your left. The elevator is just around the corner." The playfulness that had been in her eyes when Sam had entered the hospital was now replaced by sadness.

Sam knew in his head that Dean was in bad condition, but the fact that the nurse knew it too made it all too real. "Thanks." He rounded the nurses station, two elevators side by side just down the hall. He rode up in the car by himself, getting out on the second floor to let a couple of nurses in cheery scrubs in. Their approving stares went unnoticed by Sam as he took a left out of the elevator and started down the hall, hope and dread knotted fiercely together in the pit of his stomach.

As he neared the end of the corridor, a disheveled man gripping a paper coffee cup exited Dean's room. It took Sam a moment, but he recognized the man as Dean's father. Sam stalled in the middle of the hallway which only gained him the bedraggled man's attention. Their eyes met, John's shadowed and red-rimmed, and Sam wondered if he wore a matching expression of desolate fear.

Sam swallowed thickly, momentarily unable to find his voice. "John Winchester, right? I'm a friend-a friend of Dean's. We met briefly in Chicago."

John shook the hand that the kid offered, couldn't remember his name – doubted Dean had ever even mentioned it. There was a troubled concern in his tired eyes and John knew for certain that whatever had been going on between his son and the young man before him had been much more serious than he'd thought. More than some fleeting thing, even if it hadn't lasted for long. "Yeah. I remember."

"How is he?"

He scrubbed a hand over his weary face, shook his head. "They're not too sure, but it doesn't...They said it'd take a miracle."

The kid glanced at the door to Dean's room – jaw clenched tight, muscles working – and John saw something of his son in the boy before him.

It felt like time stopped between one breath and the next as his heart shuttered, something clicking as though the final tumbler fell in place and the door opened. His grip on the paper cup tightened, nearly crushing it as pain suddenly exploded in his chest, cutting tendrils spiraling swiftly through his body, curling around his veins like serrated vines. _Not now,_ he thought, _not yet._ Breathing shallow as he reached for the wall, the lurching movement caught the kid's attention.

"Sir? Are you...?" Sam rushed to catch the man as he began to collapse, trying to hold him upright as he glanced about wildly, searching for a nurse or a doctor or _somebody._

The paper cup tumbled from John's hand, hitting the floor and sloshing coffee all over the floor. "What's your name...son?"

Sam was confused as to why his name would even matter as John crumpled to the floor. "Sam. Sam Harvelle."

"_Sam,"_ John heard before his world was slipping and sliding, blurring, and he was falling. Sam - _his_ Sam. _Sammy,_ he wanted to say, tried to reach out for him...

"John?" But the man he carefully cradled against the wall mere feet from Dean's room was unresponsive. "Nurse!" Sam called. "I need a nurse!"

A door opened, then he heard footsteps, sneakers squeaking on the tile in haste. "What happened?" the nurse questioned, dropping to her knees beside Sam, fingers desperately pressing against John's wrist and the side of his throat.

"I don't know. He just...collapsed." He saw movement out of the corner of his eye, down the hallway, and glanced up to see another nurse rushing towards them. He watched as a shadow appeared in the open doorway of Dean's room, slowly filling up the bright square of light that fell across the tile floor of the hall as it approached.

Then Dean was standing there, barefooted, pale blue hospital gown falling to just above his knees. There was a piece of tape and a bead of blood on the back of the hand pressed firmly against the door jamb as he leaned his head out into the hall to see what all the commotion was about.

Troubled hazel-green eyes focused on Sam, dropped lower to the man the floor, where they widened. "Dad!"


	15. Chapter 15

**Title**: That Which Was Lost... [15/?]  
**Author**: alakewood  
**Warnings**: Spoilers for _Faith_ and _In My Time of Dying._  
**Rating**: PG  
**Word Count**: ~1260  
**Summary**: Dean attempts to come to terms with his father's death and discovers how Sam found him. A conversation his father had with him while he was still in a sedative-induced haze post-coma starts to return to him.  
**Disclaimer**: As always, I own nothing.

**oxoxo**

There was a flurry of doctors and nurses in his room, checking and rechecking his vitals before rushing him up to X-ray, then he was hooked up to a couple different machines: an electrocardiogram then an echocardiogram. But time felt sluggish, he barely noticed as they all moved about him, just blurred faces. All he could see was his father's body crumpled against the wall.

It made him think back to when he was a kid, probably seven or eight, when one of John's hunts took him to Minnesota. The first time he'd met Pastor Jim had been on a Sunday morning – it had been the only church service Dean could ever remember attending. Pastor Jim had been standing up at the lectern giving a sermon about unwavering faith in the wake of a tragedy that had happened the previous week.

Pastor Jim had read from the Bible, the first time Dean had heard scripture and the words still remained with him. "_Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil,"_ Jim had said, his gaze settling on Dean's, "_for thou art with me; thy rod and thy staff they comfort me..."_ And Dean had immediately thought of his father, and that had held true all his life.

But, now...he still couldn't fathom the words his nameless doctor had uttered to him when he'd finally found his voice to ask – his father was dead. Without him, the world seemed so much more darker and he felt as though he were now fighting a losing battle against that darkness, for, surely, his father's death wasn't natural.

And there was nothing he could do about it, nothing at all except let the nurses check this and that and marvel at his miraculous recovery.

**oxo**

Sam had been stuck in the waiting room for an hour and a half with no word on Dean's condition. He'd watched as a couple of doctors corralled Dean back into his room while a few orderlies loaded John Winchester onto a gurney and carted him away. Another took Sam by the arm and led him down the hall to the waiting room. He watched as Dean was wheeled down the hall towards the elevators in a wheelchair, then back to his room forty-five minutes later; watched doctors pass by with machines on carts. But he'd had enough of waiting.

The hallway was empty when he emerged from the tiny waiting room, feeling strangely devoid after all the activity just a few hours before. His phone rang, piercing the silence – it was Bobby. Glancing around, Sam pressed the phone to his ear. "Hey, Bobby, I-"

"Where the hell are you, Sam?"

"I can't talk, Bobby. I'll call you later." He thumbed the power button before slipping his cell back into his pocket. The battery was nearly dead anyway. He peered into the open doorway of Dean's room, ducking back around the corner when he caught sight of a lingering nurse that was checking an IV bag hanging from the back of Dean's bed while unsuccessfully attempting to make conversation with Dean, but he was having none of it. The nurse left and Sam slipped into Dean's room. "Hey," he said quietly from the doorway.

Dean's tired, shadowed eyes slowly found Sam's face. "What are you doing here? What happened to my dad?" he asked slowly.

Sam crossed the room to stand by Dean's bedside. Picking at a piece of fuzz on the blanket covering Dean's legs Sam shrugged a shoulder, shook his head. "I don't know. I ran into him in the hallway." Imperceptibly, he lifted his shoulder again. "I asked him how you were. He told me that you- It wasn't good. Then he just collapsed. He looked at me like..." He finally lifted his eyes to Dean's, uncertain of what he'd see there, but Dean's expression was just blank. "I don't know."

"That was it?"

"I wish I could've been more help. What did the doctors say?"

Dean shook his head. "They don't know anything either." He paused, unwavering gaze still fixed on Sam's. "How did you know what happened? Where to find me?"

Sam sighed, looking away and shoving his hands in his jeans pockets. "I should've told you when we first met, but...I didn't know _how_."

Something on the fringe of Dean's mind fluttered, like recognition or half-formed memory. Something his father had said when he'd woken up. Something important, but it curled back up on itself.

"I saw you. In a dream. I saw you- saw you die."

"One of your visions."

"Yeah. Then, the past couple of weeks it came back. Then it started to change. Then it _was_ a vision." Sam shook his head, recalling the disbelief he'd felt upon having the vision. "I saw it - _you_ - as it was happening. And, later, I overheard Bobby on the phone – he was talking to your dad. I followed him here. If anybody has answers about what happened to your dad, he'd be the first person I'd talk to."

The vacant expression on Dean's face didn't change except for the determination in his eyes. He peeled the tape off the back of his hand that held the IV tube secure and pulled the needle out of the vein, then pushed the blanket off his legs as he moved to swing them over the side of his bed. "Then let's go talk to him."

"He's in Sioux Falls and you should be in bed."

"I'm fine," Dean disagreed, crossing to the small closet beside the door. His clothes, shoes, wallet, and keys were inside. Everything except the t-shirt he'd been wearing and, while everything that had happened was still hazy, he was pretty certain that the paramedics had cut it off of him. But his button-up and jacket were there. "I'm gonna change, then we can go."

"What about...what about your dad?"

"I'll come back for his- his body. I'll be right back." He disappeared into the small bathroom adjacent his room and returned a couple of minutes later already looking more alert. "Let's go."

**oxo**

The drive was silent, too many things that needed to be said going unspoken. And Dean was too focused on trying to piece together the fragments that were slowly returning to him to pay much attention to the tense atmosphere inside the car. The thing on the periphery of his mind unfurled again and he caught tiny glimpses of the one-sided conversation his father had had with him that morning.

The sedative they'd had him on while he'd been comatose had made the whole exchange foggy, but pieces remained, glimmering dimly: the pained look on John's face, the way he couldn't meet Dean's eyes as he spoke. Not until those final moments before he'd left Dean's hospital room.

It took nearly the whole drive up to South Dakota before all the words and looks that Dean could remember reassembled themselves into something understandable. "_You can't do this by yourself,"_ John had told him. "Save _him. If you can't, you'll have to kill him. I hope, for your sake, it doesn't come down to that._"

But it still didn't quite make sense. Not until his father had finally looked him in the eye and each dully gleaming fragment of memory was struck with brilliant illumination; not until John told him, "_Find your brother."_


	16. Chapter 16

**Title**: That Which Was Lost... [16/?]  
**Author**: alakewood  
**Warnings**: Slight spoilers for _In My Time of Dying_ and _Everybody Loves a Clown._ And some minor Wincest.  
**Rating**: PG-13, maybe.  
**Word** **Count**: ~1100  
**Summary**: Upon arriving at Bobby's, Dean pieces something his father told him with something he'd been speculating about and realizes something earth-shattering.  
**Disclaimer: As always, I own nothing.**

**oxoxo**

Sam's borrowed Camaro slowed to turn off the highway onto a gravel drive and Dean recognized their destination as soon as his gaze landed on the rusting 'Singer Salvage' sign, barely illuminated by the headlights, arching above the gate. With stomach-turning certainty, his father's admission to the existence of his brother and all his suspicions of Sam being adopted merged into something as clear as a Polaroid. "Stop- stop the car," Dean said, fumbling for his seatbelt buckle as a wave of nausea rolled through him.

The car skidded to a halt in a cloud of gravel dust only twenty feet from Bobby's front porch and Sam was beside Dean, kneeling on the patchy grass of the yard, in moments. "Hey," Sam said softly, placing a gentle hand on Dean's back and he all but flinched away from the touch. "You okay? I told you you should've stayed at the hospital."

"Sam?" Bobby questioned from the top of the porch steps. His eyes were focused on Dean's hunched form as he spoke. "Why don't you go get a room ready for him while I help him inside."

Sam watched Dean cough and spit, then he climbed to his feet and followed Bobby's orders.

Once Sam was safely inside, out of earshot, and Bobby was beside him, Dean finally looked at the older man. "You know. Everyone _knows_. All this time and nobody ever told us a goddamn thing!"

"It was for your own good. Both of ya's."

Dean scoffed. "Our own good. This is going to _destroy_ Sam when he finds out we're..." But he couldn't bring himself to say the words. Couldn't do much more than breathe for a long moment.

"Sam'll understand," Bobby told Dean, putting a firm hand under his arm and heaving him up to his feet.

Dean shook his head. "No, he won't. _You_ don't understand what's happened between us, Bobby. And-" he broke off, suddenly feeling sick again. There was no way he could tell Bobby – tell _anyone_ - what had happened between him and Sam. Instead, he followed Bobby into the living room and changed the topic of their conversation. "What happened to my dad?"

Bobby looked away, suddenly as uncomfortable as Dean had been now that he was on the spot. "Why you askin' questions you already know the answers to, son?"

"What happened to my dad?" he asked more slowly. "I want to hear it from you."

"He struck a bargain."

"With who? For what?"

"His life for yours, Dean. You already knew that."

"I'd guessed it," Dean conceded, sitting heavily in a dining room chair as his heart thudded in his chest. "Who'd he make the deal with?"

Bobby wouldn't meet his gaze.

"Bobby..._Who?_"

"Azazel," he whispered harshly as though the word were a curse. "I tried to- He wouldn't _listen_. You know how stubborn he is."

_Was,_ Dean thought, but didn't correct his use of tense. How stubborn his dad _was._

Sam entered the dining room then, offering Dean a glass of water. "Come on, I've got a room ready for you." He gave Bobby an awkward half-smile and led Dean upstairs. He walked into the room across the hall from his, stood beside the bed and watched Dean come in behind him. "You gonna be okay?"

Dean set his glass down on the nightstand and sat on the edge of the bed. "I don't know, Sam."

Slowly, Sam moved over to Dean, sat beside him and reached for his hand.

Dean wanted to pull away from the touch, but he couldn't. As much as he knew he should, he didn't feel disgusted by what he felt for Sam, his _brother_. He knew it was wrong, knew it was all screwed up beyond fixing. Knew that, once Sam learned what he knew, he'd never speak to him again. And now, after having just lost his father, he couldn't lose Sam, too.

"You're going to be okay," Sam told him, his other hand moving to cup Dean's jaw and turn his face towards Sam as he leaned closer. "You'll be okay," he whispered against Dean's lips. Kissed him gently. No urgency, no press for more than just one kiss.

Dean couldn't stop his body from reacting, opened his mouth under Sam's, begging for more.

Sam allowed him a few deep kisses before pulling away. "Get some rest." He was silent for a long moment, internally debating with himself about what he knew he needed to say next. "You're gonna have to go back to the hospital to...to-"

"ID my dad," Dean finished for him, feeling the empty ache in his chest.

"I'll take you back tomorrow." He let go of Dean's hand as he stood.

Dean nodded. "Thanks." He watched Sam leave and close the door behind him. "Never should've left the hospital," he said to himself. "Never should've left Dad." He was so angry that his father had died, that he hadn't even gotten the choice to argue John's sacrifice. It wasn't fair. But life as a hunter never had much to do with what was _fair,_ rather what was right. But nothing was right with Dean having to build a funeral pyre and watching his father's body burn.

**oxo**

The following evening, Sam sat across from Bobby at the dining room table where Bobby had focused his attention on the three books before him. Sam had dropped Dean off at the Impala late that morning and hadn't heard from him since. He knew that Dean should've had everything taken care of by mid-afternoon – ID-ing his father's body, releasing it to the mortuary in Sioux Falls where Bobby was friends with the mortician. The trilling of a cell phone had him on his feet, but it wasn't his.

Bobby looked at Sam with a cocked brow as he pulled his cell phone out from underneath a book and looked at the screen. He flipped it open and pressed it to his ear, still looking at Sam. "Ellen, hi."

Sam tensed in the doorway, listening to Bobby's half of the brief conversation. His mother and Jo were on their way to Bobby's and that was most definitely not good.

"You know what they say about idle hands. Go keep yourself busy by picking up some dinner. Grab some beer, too. I got the feeling I'm gonna need it."


	17. Chapter 17

**Title**: That Which Was Lost... [17/?]  
**Author**: alakewood  
**Warnings**: AU, non-graphic Wincest. Spoilers for _In My Time of Dying._  
**Rating**: PG-13  
**Word** **Count**: 2500+  
**Summary**: Sam and Dean's whole relationship has led up to this moment, the moment of truth. Sam finally learns that Dean is his brother.  
**Disclaimer**: As always, I own nothing.

**oxoxo**

Ellen replayed the conversation she'd had with Bobby the night before in her head as Jo finished throwing together her bag upstairs. John Winchester was _dead._ Bobby had been vague on the details, but the one thing he told her for certain was that Dean knew Sam was his brother and that Dean's reaction to Bobby's knowledge of it as well was strange. And, while Bobby also told her that Dean didn't have any intentions of telling Sam about it, Ellen knew she had to tell Sam herself before Dean changed his mind.

Jo exited the house a few minutes later with her duffel slung over her shoulder. She tossed it into the backseat before joining her mother up front. "So, what's with the sudden rush to get to Bobby's? Is Sam okay?"

There was something in her daughter's voice that told Ellen she knew something her mother didn't. Did she, somehow, find out Sam wasn't really her brother? No – she would've reacted angrily, maybe even violently, to that. She just knew _something_ that Ellen apparently wasn't supposed to. "Sam's fine." She left it at that and dug in her purse for her cell phone to call Bobby and let him know she and Jo were on their way.

**oxo**

As Ellen slowed to round the curve fifty yards from Bobby's driveway, Jo pointed out her window. "Do you see that? Is it smoke?"

Ellen ducked down, leaning forward over the steering wheel as she peered out the windshield at the sky above the tree line. "I think so," she said, foot falling back on the gas, the Bronco fishtailing as soon as its tires hit loose gravel. She immediately recognized the Impala and realized the smoke was probably from John Winchester's funeral pyre.

"What's going on, Mom?" Jo asked as they pulled up alongside Bobby's truck.

"John Winchester died," Ellen answered slowly, gauging Jo's reaction. Her daughter's face fell but showed nothing more than detached pity.

"Oh." Jo had never really cared all that much for Dean – especially after what he did to her brother – but she felt bad for him. First, he lost his mother when he was a kid and now, his dad. She could barely remember her own father, but she didn't know if she could survive ever losing her mother or Sam. She climbed out of the car and grabbed her bag from the backseat and headed towards the smoke.

In a small clearing at the edge of the salvage yard near the trees that lined Bobby's property, two figures stood side-by-side, silhouettes against the flames even in the late-afternoon sunlight. Despite the fact both men were nearly the same height, it was easy for Jo to recognize her brother's lanky form just in the way he stood. Beside him, The slump of Dean's shoulders and his bowed head stole a couple of inches from his height.

Jo watched Sam lean intimately close to Dean, let his hand gently and unconsciously take hold of Dean's as he spoke. She cleared her throat as she approached them, saw Dean startle and quickly pull away, and met her brother's sad gaze with her own. She offered him a small smile and reached for Dean's arm, taking hold of it just above his elbow and squeezing lightly. "I'm sorry about your dad," she said above the snapping hiss of the fire.

Dean's gaze flicked up to Sam, the muscles of his jaw twitching, before he looked back at Jo, not quite meeting her eyes. "Thanks," he managed.

Jo dropped her hand and glanced at her brother again, then headed towards the house. Inside, her mother and Bobby were having a hushed argument in the kitchen, their voices abruptly quieting when Jo accidentally allowed the screen door to slam shut behind herself. She dropped her bag by the stairs and continued back towards the kitchen.

"How ya doin', kid?" Bobby asked as she hugged him.

Jo shrugged, pulling away. "I'm good. You?"

"Oh, you know," Bobby sighed, eyes lighting on Ellen and out the kitchen window before settling back on Jo. "Same shit, different day."

"Yeah. I know how that goes."

"Hey – I've been havin' some trouble with my computer again. Think you could take another look at it?"

Jo could see right through Bobby, knew he was politely trying to get rid of her. But she also knew that he and her mother wouldn't start talking about whatever they'd been arguing about until they were sure she was out of earshot. "Sure. Ash has been teaching me a few things. I'll see what I can do."

**oxo**

The fire was still burning even after the sun wen down. Dean continued to stand watch over it as though he were in a daze, but Sam had managed to convince him to at least sit on the porch with him for a while to eat dinner. Sam ran into Jo in the living room as he returned from the kitchen with a couple of beers. "Do you have any idea what Mom's doing here?" he asked.

Jo shrugged, setting her plate on her knees. "I don't know. She and Bobby were talking about something when we first got here, but they shut up pretty quickly when I came in. Do you think they were talking about you and Dean?"

"Does Mom _know?_"

"I didn't say anything to her – it's not my place. What about Bobby? Does he?"

Sam shook his head, shrugging a shoulder. "I've tried to be discreet about it and Dean hasn't been here much, but...I don't know."

"I'll do my best to eavesdrop and let you know what I hear."

"Thanks," he said, transferring both bottles to one hand and wiping the condensation clinging to his fingers off on his jeans.

"But, hey? If Mom does know something about you two and hasn't said anything yet...she's gotta be at least a _little_ okay with it, right?"

Sam offered her an unenthusiastic smile. "I hope so."

She watched him go, then, alone in the living room, plate perched on her knees, she quickly finished her dinner. Her mother and Bobby were talking heatedly again when she went to take her dirty dishes into the kitchen. "Everything okay?" she asked in the strained silence that hung in the room.

"Fine," Ellen automatically answered.

Jo went about washing her plate and fork, rinsing them and setting them in the drainboard before picking up the dishtowel from the counter. Drying her hands, she turned back towards her mother and Bobby. "I think I'm gonna call it a night," she said, faking a yawn and setting the towel down. "Goodnight."

"Night, Jo," Bobby said, standing from the table and picking up his and Ellen's empty plates. "I had Sam get your room ready for you earlier, so..."

"Thanks." She moved towards her mother, leaned down and kissed her cheek in an uncharacteristic display of daughterly affection. "Sure everything's okay?"

"Yeah. Goodnight, hon."

Jo headed back out to the living room and grabbed her bag before going upstairs. From her room at the end of the hall, not only could she see the fire slowly burning out outside, but there was a also a vent in her floor that made it possible for her to hear conversation in the dining room. It was how she and Sam had first learned about hunting when they were kids, Ellen not allowing them to go into the Roadhouse or have any contact with hunters except Bobby.

She tossed her duffel onto her bed and quietly settled herself on the floor, ear to the vent. The discussion in kitchen was muted, only a few stressed words filtering through the duct. But as the conversation became more intense, Jo could make out more of what was being said.

"I think you should just leave it be, El. Dean has no intention of telling Sam the truth."

"And what if he changes his mind, Bobby? I can't risk him finding out like that! I don't want him to hear it from anybody other than me."

There was a long silence and Jo had to strain, holding her breath, to hear what was said next.

"Then you should tell him now and let them grieve for John as brothers."

No. She couldn't have heard that correctly. No, Sam and Dean weren't – _couldn't_ be - and it suddenly all made sense: why her mother wanted Sam to have nothing to do with the Winchesters, why she was so terrified to find out that Sam had gone off with Dean, maybe even why Dean had abandoned Sam in Chicago. Forgotten memories resurface, shifted and turned, pieces fitting together in the gaps of a the picture forming in her mind. And she suddenly couldn't breathe. She shoved off the floor and ran out of her room, down the hall, down the stairs, and into the kitchen as fast as her feet would allow. "It's not true," she begged her mother. "Tell me it's _not true._"

"Jo?" Ellen's eyes were wide with shock and confusion. "What are you talking about?"

"Sam...he's...Tell me he's my brother."

Ellen's gaze shifted ever so slightly towards Bobby and in her half-second of hesitation, Jo had her answer.

"No. _No._"

The fire was still smoldering, large embers brightly glowing red and orange, when Jo made it outside paces ahead of her mother. Tears blurred her vision but didn't slow her down as she raced to where her brother – no, not her her brother, not anymore, not _ever_ - stood beside Dean next to the pyre. She all but launched herself at Dean catching him off guard, frantically whaling on his chest with the fleshier parts of her fists, her hiccupping sobs making it impossible to understand what she was saying. Sam attempted to pull her away but only succeeded in making her flail more wildly, one of her fists finally connecting with Dean's mouth.

Dean knew without a doubt that Jo had somehow discovered what he had desperately hoped to keep secret. He brought his arms up around her and pinned her against his chest, her abusive hands trapped between them.

"Dean, I...I have no idea what's going on," Sam said, face lined with concern and consternation as he again moved to take his sister from Dean's protective hold.

"No, I've got her," Dean told him, not meeting Sam's eyes.

Jo drew in a ragged breath, turning her eyes up to Dean's. "You knew. That's why you left him."

Sam looked even more confused then, but if Dean could get Jo away, he might still be able to salvage-

"He's _your_ brother and you didn't tell him."

Sam took a step closer to his sister and his lover. "What? Jo?"

Jo pushed herself out of Dean's now-slack embrace and stood on unsteady legs between him and Sam. She swallowed thickly, not wanting to tell him but knowing she had to. "He's your brother, Sam."

For a long moment the only sound was the crackling of the pyre, then Sam laughed, a strangled incredulous sound. "No." His gaze moved to Dean's face, his mother's, back to Jo's – each expression different but all telling him this wasn't some sick joke. It was real. It was _true._ "Dean?"

"I'm sorry," Dean said, chest heaving.

"How long- When did you-" Panic rising in his chest, Sam couldn't finish a thought.

"When you brought me here," Dean answered. "That's when I knew for sure."

"Were you ever gonna tell me?" His breath was coming in short, harsh gasps.

"I don't know. Didn't know how. Not like this."

Jo tried to catch Sam's gaze. "I'm sorry, Sam. _God_, I'm so sorry."

Sam just shook his head. "No. I can't- I can't _do_ this." He started towards the salvage yard where the Camaro was parked, keys stashed above the visor. One-track mind, he ignored his mother - _was_ she even his mother? - calling after him, begging him to stop. He didn't know where he was going to go, just knew he couldn't stay.

"Sam! Sam, _please!_"

Dean's voice – the emotion in it – gave him pause. Made him stop in the darkness of the night, just out of reach of the floodlights.

"Let's talk about this. Please."

Sam just shook his head and looked away, the muscles of his jaw working as he clenched his teeth together. "No. I need to get out of here."

Dean shortened the distance between them. "Then let's go."

"Alone. I need to go _alone._" He forced his eyes to meet Dean's. "We can't do this."

"We _have_ something, Sam," Dean whispered harshly. "And I know you feel it, too, otherwise you wouldn't be running away from me."

Sam turned unwilling to meet the questioning gazes of their audience. "Dean..."

"I know it's wrong, that I shouldn't feel like this, but...I can't let you leave like this."

"You don't have a choice."

"Yes, I do. Sam, I lo-"

"We're _brothers_, Dean. Brothers. We _can't_ do this, whatever _this_ is, anymore. We can't." Sam swallowed thickly and started back towards the car.

Dean glanced back to Jo rooted in place by the fire, to Ellen much closer now, to Bobby still on the porch. Every one of them looked guilty and stricken.

"Sam-" Ellen began, tears streaking her face.

"Are you even my mother?" Sam questioned accusingly, pivoting and squinting through the bright light.

Ellen shook her head, squeezing her eyes shut. "No."

Sam's held breath exploded from his lungs as though he'd been sucker-punched in the gut. "Lies – my whole _life_ has been based on _lies._ Has anything you've told me been the truth?"

"The only thing that was a lie is that I wasn't the one to give birth to you, Bill and I weren't your parents. I _love_ you. I _raised_ you. I kept you safe. That's what your father wanted."

Suddenly he couldn't breathe and the whole world felt like it lurched beneath his feet. He hadn't had time to process much beyond the fact that Dean was his brother, but of course that meant that John Winchester was his father and the scene in the hospital hallway came rushing back. He'd sat there helplessly as his father died before his very eyes. And he didn't even know. That look on John's face seconds before he collapsed – the one that said he more than recognized, but _knew_ Sam – at once made sense. He started walking backwards, his own heels tripping him up, before he turned and raced towards the Camaro. Heart thundering erratically in his chest, lungs taking much too shallow breaths, he slid into the drivers seat, fumbling the keys down from the visor and shoving them into the ignition. The engine roared to life, then he was speeding down Bobby's driveway, hitting the highway with squealing tires, and disappearing into the night.


	18. Chapter 18

**Title**: That Which Was Lost... [18/?]  
**Author**: alakewood  
**Warnings**: Vague mentions of Wincest, but nothing graphic.  
**Rating**: PG  
**Word** **Count**: 1000+  
**Summary**: Fate or something else leads Sam back to Casper – it's not like he could go home – and he calls Dean. But when Dean gets there, Sam's gone.  
**Disclaimer**: As always, I own nothing.

**oxoxo**

Sam left Sioux Falls, headed west on 90 and kept driving. He stopped in Rapid City for gas, thankful that his wallet hadn't been left behind with his cell phone, not that there was anyone he really wanted to talk to. Which wasn't technically true, but he couldn't think about Dean – his _brother_ - because it only brought up emotions he knew he shouldn't feel.

So he closed the gas-cap and headed into the station to pay for his gas and grab himself a coffee for the road. Heavy-heartedly, he trudged back to the Camaro and climbed inside. He pulled away from the pumps and headed back out onto the highway.

South out of Rapid City took him down 16T which turned into 79. He neared the end of the highway and had a choice to make: keep heading south on 385 or head west again on 18. But he couldn't imagine going home, it just made him think of all the lies his mother - _Ellen_, not _Mom_, not really – had told him, of the life he'd lived with a family that wasn't his.

Highway 18 curved from a northwest direction to southwest towards the small town of Lusk, Wyoming. He turned right onto 25 and belatedly realized he was headed for Casper. He glanced at his fuel gauge hoping he'd have enough gas to get beyond the city and find a motel, but he had just under a quarter tank and sixty dollars left in his wallet. He didn't have a choice but to stop. Didn't know if was his piss-poor luck or fate or _what_, but it seemed as though something was forcing his mind back to Dean. That night they spent in the Ranch House Motel after Sam's first hunt. His body reacted to the memory and he wished like hell he could go back to that night before everything turned to shit. Another part of him – a surprisingly much smaller part – wished he'd told Dean just to head off on his hunt alone when he'd tracked Sam down at Vern's.

Sam though about what Dean had said before he left. "_We_ have _something, Sam. And I know you feel it, too."_ It was true, God help him.

He pulled into the parking lot of the Ranch House Motel, parked in front of the office and headed inside to get a room for the night. The man behind the desk was more interested in the game on TV than he was in helping Sam, offhandedly rattling off rates and taking the last of Sam's cash before sliding a key on a battered plastic key chain across the counter towards him.

Sam headed back outside and moved the Camaro a couple doors down. His room seemed larger than the one he and Dean had shared – mostly for the fact that the twin bed took up just over half the space the king-sized bed had. His first stop was the bathroom, then he sat heavily on the hard mattress, dropping his wallet and keys on the nightstand. He eyed the TV remote then the telephone. He suddenly, _desperately_ wanted to talk to Dean but couldn't for the life of him remember the number. He really only had one choice. He called Jo collect.

"Sam?" Hope, uncertainty, and fear colored her voice. "I'm so sorry."

"I know. It's-" He was about to say it was okay, but it wasn't. Might never be okay again. "It wasn't your fault. Is, uh, is Dean still there?"

Jo hesitated. "No. He didn't stick around much longer after you left." She paused again. "Why?"

He couldn't tell her the truth but couldn't come up with a very convincing lie either. "Because. He's- he's my brother and we- we need to talk about what happened and...I don't know, Jo."

"So...what do you want me to do?"

"I, uh, left my cell in my room. Can you get me Dean's number from it? Please?"

"Yeah. Hold on a sec."

Sam could hear a door open then the loud creak of the floorboards in the upstairs hall of Bobby's house, then the opening of another door.

"Well, at least this explains why you didn't answer any of my calls." She read off Dean's number and Sam scrawled it on the pad of paper by the phone. "Was that the only reason you called?"

It was Sam's turn to hesitate. "Yeah. Sorry."

"Can't exactly blame you. I should've kept my mouth shut."

"Jo-"

"Are you gonna be okay, Sam? Are you gonna be able to forgive me?"

"Like I said, it wasn't your fault. Mom-" Still couldn't quite wrap his head around that, Ellen not being his mother. "She shouldn't have-" But, no matter how much he wanted to blame her, he knew it wasn't completely her fault, either. "As far as me being okay?" He shrugged. "Eventually, maybe. I hope."

"Where are you? Home?"

"I'm in Wyoming, actually. I couldn't go back there. Not yet, anyway."

"What's in Wyoming?"

Sam shook his head. "Nothing." Just memories. "But, hey, it's late-"

"Or early."

"Or early, so I'm gonna let you go, okay?"

"Yeah. Talk to you later?"

"Yeah, Jo. Goodnight."

"'Night, Sam."

**oxo**

Dean was tooling around Kimball, kept circling back to the Roadhouse, but he didn't see the Camaro anywhere. Then Sam called collect from that motel in Casper. "Three hours. I'll be there in three hours," Dean had told him. But Sam didn't answer the door when he knocked on it shortly after nine AM. Didn't answer the phone when Dean called. So Dean picked the lock and let himself inside.

The Camaro was parked in front of the room, car keys, room key, Sam's wallet, all on the nightstand and the sheets were rumpled. The bathroom door was wide open. But Sam wasn't anywhere. Dean pulled the curtains open to let more light in and that's when he saw it: tiny, yellowish crystals along the windowsill. Sulfur.

Sulfur and Sam was missing.


	19. Chapter 19

**Title:** That Which Was Lost... [19/?]  
**Author:** alakewood  
**Warnings: ** Spoilers for _AHBL._ AU.  
**Rating:** PG-13  
**Word Count: ** 1500+  
**Summary:** AU of _AHBL._ Sam wakes up in a ghost town, not knowing at first where he is. Dean gets the message Sam sends, painfully loud and clear, and sets out to find him.  
**Disclaimer:** As always, I own nothing.  
**A/N:** I t's been nearly 10 months - _TEN MONTHS!_ - since I last updated this fic. I wasn't sure where this was going then, and I'm still not 100% now, but I think we're getting near the end. While this could theoretically go on for quite some time, I'd say we've got another chapter to two, then maybe an epilogue? Then some major editing.

**oxoxo**

Sam awoke disoriented, sprawled on his back in the middle of what appeared to be a genuine ghost town, right down to the faded general store sign across the road and the crooked swinging doors of the saloon. He pushed himself up onto his elbows before curling up to sit, time-worn and sun-bleached boards smooth beneath his hands, and just stared at everything. Last he remembered, he'd been sitting on the lumpy mattress of the bed in his motel room in Cheyenne, in the wee hours of the morning, waiting for Dean. How he'd gotten from there to here – wherever _here_ even was – he hadn't the slightest clue.

A gentle wind picked up, carrying with it the brown dust of the dirt roads and a chill. As it tapered off, Sam could hear a faint, indistinct voice. He shoved off the raised walkway, socked feet hitting the compact dirt road, and walked into the flagging breeze until the voice became clearer and he could hear words. "Hello? Is anybody out there? Can anybody _hear me?_"

"Here!" Sam called back. "I'm over here!" It went on like that, a game of call and response, for a long stretch of minutes as he wandered past the rundown, abandoned buildings, in between a church and a jail that hadn't seen parishioners or prisoners in at least seventy years, until Sam stumbled across a small wooden shed behind the post office and town hall, the door latched with a corroded lock. "Are you in there?" he asked loudly, tugging on the lock.

"Oh, thank God. Yeah," she said, sounding terrified, voice shaking. "Can you get me out of here?"

"I'm- I'm gonna try." He scoured the ground outside the shed for a rock or something else big and heavy enough to try to break the lock away from the latch. Success came in a chunk of stone nearly twice the size of Sam's fist that had crumbled away from the post office's foundation and, after a few well-aimed strikes, the rusted lock fell away, thunking heavily into the dust. Sam threw open the latch and pulled open the doors, and his arms were full of sobbing, grateful girl before he'd even got a look at her face.

"Thank you, thank you, _oh, God, thank you_," she cried, then finally started to pull away. "I've been stuck in there for..." she trailed off, damp eyes suddenly going wide. "Sam Winchester."

Sam felt his own eyes widen in surprise as she looked at him as though she recognized him. "And you are?" An uneasy feeling settled in his gut and he put a little more distance between them.

"Ava Wilson," she answered, still looking somewhat awestruck. "I've dreamt about you."

Before Sam had a chance to ask what the hell she was talking about, they were joined by three more people, and they all looked at each other for a moment before Sam asked what they were all thinking. "What the hell is going on?"

**oxo**

Even after everyone told the tale of their seemingly magic psychic powers or abilities or _whatever_ they were, Sam didn't feel any more relieved. But, the more of the town he saw, the more he recognized it and, when he noticed the bell with the oak tree cast into the iron in front of the town hall, he knew where they were. He cornered Andy. "You said you could broadcast more than just thoughts? How far?"

Andy's eyebrows raised and he shrugged. "I don't know. Never really tested out the long-distance capabilities. Why?"

"My- Dean, my- my brother. If I can get a message to him, he can help us."

Andy shrugged again. "I don't- I mean, we can _try._"

"Can't hurt, right?" Sam glanced over at Jake, Ava, and Lily, kept his voice low because, even though they were all strangers, he felt something kindred with Andy and didn't want the others to overhear. "All I know is that we can't stay here long – something's not right."

Andy scoffed, incredulous smile on his face. "We've all got these crazy powers and were _somehow_ transported here in the middle of the night. There's _a lot_ that's not right."

"Yeah, I guess."

Rubbing his hands together as he widened his stance, Andy looked up at Sam. "Okay. So, how do you want to do this?"

"I don't know." Sam shoved his hands in his pockets. "How does it, you know, work?"

"Well, that douchebag I was talking about, he lived in my building, saw him every day, passed him on the street all the time. He was right there. So, I don't really know how the whole long-distance thing'll go. 'Cause I don't, like, know your brother."

"Maybe- Maybe you could, I don't know, channel through me? Like, if I focus on him, you could send him the image through me like some kind of conduit?"

"It could work, I guess. What do you want me to- to send him?"

Sam nodded towards the bell. "That – focus on the oak tree. If he knows the stories about Cold Oak, and I'm sure he does, he'll know what it means." He rolled up the sleeves of his shirt, offered his bared forearms to Andy. "Let's see what you can do."

Andy swiped his palms down the front of his jacket and grabbed a hold of Sam. "Okay, then." He stared good and hard at the bell before turning his gaze on Sam, focused and determined.

Sam closed his eyes and thought of Dean. Prayed that somehow, wherever Dean was, that he'd get the message and understand what it meant. The images Andy was trying to send – the town, the bell, Sam – filtered through Sam's mind, blurred like the scenery along the highway viewed from a speeding car.

Andy dropped his hands from Sam's arms after a couple of minutes and ran his fingers through his disheveled hair. "How was that?"

Sam shook his head, tugging his sleeves back down into place. "Don't know. Guess we'll find out."

**oxo**

Dean had hesitated when calling Bobby's. While he knew he needed help, he and Sam had left a very awkward situation behind when they'd gone their separate ways the day before.

"'lo?" Bobby answered distractedly after the fourth ring.

"It's Dean."

There was a long pause during which Dean wondered if the line hadn't gone dead or Bobby just hadn't heard him, but the older hunter finally spoke up. "What d'you need?"

"Sam's gone. I, uh, I found sulfur in his room."

"Sulfur?"

"I'm pretty sure it was Yellow Eyes. I don't know _why,_ but I'm- I feel it in my gut."

"Where're you now?"

"Truck stop in Cheyenne." Dean glanced up at the sign advertising prices for diesel and unleaded and leaned back against his car. "I don't know where to-" Pain flared through his head, burning at his temples, making his vision white-out. "Son of a-" His cell phone clattered to the cement as his hands flew up to clutch at his head and he dropped to his knees. "Fuck," he breathed as the pain ebbed only slightly. Dean groped for his phone and pressed it to his ear.

"-okay? _Dean?_"

"Yeah. I'm here."

"What happened?"

"I- headache?"

"A headache?"

"Yeah. I don't- _Ah!_" He clenched at the phone, pressing his fists to his temples and the pain lanced through his head once more with an even stronger intensity. It felt like the electric jolt that hit him when he'd tasered that rawhead, but concentrated in his brain. Images flickered behind his eyes – a dirt road lined with rundown, wooden buildings; an old bell with a tree either engraved or cast into the metal; then Sam – before cycling again. The pain lingered as the images faded and he put his cell to his ear once more. "I think- I think I know where he is."

"What?"

"I- I saw it. There was a bell. With a tree on it. I've seen it before."

"What kind of tree? An oak tree?"

"I- maybe."

"What else did you see?"

"Sam? Some old buildings."

"What did they look like?"

"Neglected. Falling apart. Road was dirt."

"Cold Oak. It's gotta be. You're a lot closer than I am – I'll meet you there. And Dean?"

Dean rubbed at his eyes with the fingers of his left hand, willing the throbbing behind them to go away. "Yeah?"

"Be careful. If we're dealing with the Yellow-Eyed Demon, here-"

"I know. But it's Sam."

"I'll meet you there," Bobby said again before the line went silent.

Dean climbed into the Impala, dug the stack of state maps he'd accumulated out of the glove box. He rifled through them until he found the one for South Dakota and traced a route along 79, 16, I-90, and over into Pennington County. Taking a deep breath to steel himself, Dean stared at the map and the course he'd plotted, then tossed the map into the passenger seat.

Sam was out there, in who knew _what_ kind of condition, waiting for him. And, however he'd managed to do it, he'd sent Dean an SOS. He didn't have a minute to waste.


	20. Chapter 20

**Title:** That Which Was Lost... [20/?]  
**Author: ** alakewood  
**Warnings:** AU. Spoilers for _AHBL._  
**Rating:** PG-13  
**Word Count: ** 1600+  
**Summary:** Dean's trying to track down Sam, but his brother's not who he finds in Cold Oak. Meanwhile, Sam's meeting up with the YED.  
**Disclaimer: ** As always, I own nothing.

**oxoxo**

Dean followed the thick red lines on the map that marked the interstate, then the black lines of state highways, and gray lines of paved county roads until he was in the middle of Nowhere, South Dakota, in the middle of the night, at the end of cracking asphalt and the start of gravel. The Impala protested with a growl as she shuddered and shook over the rutted road, carrying Dean for miles deeper into the darkness. His stomach grew heavier with each passing minute, unsure what he was heading into, in what state he'd find Sam, if he'd be facing down the Yellow-Eyed Demon, finally, after so many years of searching for it.

Fifteen minutes into the off-road end of Dean's journey, the gravel abruptly ended in a narrow dirt road barely visible through thick overgrowth, vague suggestion of what may or may not have been shallow tire tracks leading into the distance. "Shit," Dean cursed, cutting the engine and climbing out of the car. He'd have to go the rest of the way on foot.

Dean rounded the Impala to the trunk and opened it up, quickly throwing anything he thought could be useful into a duffel before shoving the keys into his pocket, arming himself with a .45 and a flashlight, and starting off into the night.

Cold Oak wasn't marked on any modern maps, but Dean knew vaguely, from legend and lore, that it was some twenty-odd miles off the highway and he'd already covered the twenty on the country road. A handful of miles was all that stood between him and Sam.

Beneath his jacket, Dean's shirts stuck to his back, damp with sweat, and his breath left his lungs in sharp bursts as he stumbled across the edge of town. Abandoned buildings stood in silhouette along either side of the wide, compact dirt road that spanned the distance between them, faint moonlight barely enough to see by without his flashlight. Gun drawn, Dean willed his breath to quiet, slowly counted each inhalation – one, two, three, four – and each exhalation – five, six, seven, eight – until his breathing was controlled. He steadily made his way towards the center of the ghost town, hoping to find Sam near the bell he'd somehow sent Dean a telepathic image of.

The whole square was empty but Dean started a sweep regardless. There was a thick-beamed wooden fence at the end opposite from where Dean entered that bordered what appeared to be pasture, and a few posts and rails had fallen or been knocked down, leaving behind a large gap. Dean swept the beam of this flashlight along the fence, stomach sinking with dread and sudden feeling of wrongness. His gaze darted right, left, a quick glance over his shoulder, before he started moving forward again.

The beam of Dean's light caught on a pair of worn combat boots first, then dusty fatigues. A trembling hand reached towards the light.

Dean rushed to the man's side, took in the gash across his forehead, blood flowing sluggishly over dark skin gone ashen. He'd been there for a while, then. "What happened?"

The man coughed, gagged, lips and teeth painted crimson when he opened his mouth, struggling to speak. "Yellow-eyed man," he rasped.

Dean's heart stuttered. "Where is he? Where's Sam?"

Talley, according to the name patch stitched to the chest of his fatigues, grimaced. "Only- only one," he whispered, then drew in a wet, rattling breath. "He only wanted one."

"Sam?" Dean asked again.

Talley nodded.

"He did this?"

Another nod.

That wasn't like Sam – Sam didn't kill, wasn't capable of the cruelty or the heartlessness. "Where is he?"

Talley's eyes fluttered and his throat worked as he tried to swallow. "I don't- don't know," he finally managed. His eyes stayed closed.

"Please."

A pained breath and a groan and Talley lifted an arm with obvious effort and pointed off to Dean's for o'clock. The arm dropped heavily to the ground after a moment and the square fell silent, save for Dean's own shallow breathing.

Dean knew it was probably too soon, and he needed to find Sam before something _worse_ could happen to him, but he couldn't leave Talley to lie there. He pulled salt and lighter fluid from his duffel and set to burning Talley's body.

**oxo**

Sam struggled across the uneven terrain for hours until he finally came across a set of long-forgotten railroad tracks nearly buried in the dirt. The yellow-eyed man - _demon_- from his dreams stood on the other side, leaning nonchalantly against the front of a rusting, dark green Jeep with Nebraska plates.

"Sammy-boy," the demon greeted, eyes flashing, "I was starting to think you were a no-show."

Sam thought about his dream from the previous night, the demon's promise to kill Ellen and Jo, slow and painful – he'd make them beg for their lives, then to be put out of their misery. Then he'd make Sam watch as he killed Dean, just like he killed Jess, pinned to the ceiling, burning. If Sam didn't follow his few, simple orders, everyone he had ever loved would die. Sam didn't want to be beguiled by the demon, but he wasn't stupid enough to doubt he'd follow through. "Well, I'm here. What do I need to do?"

"You're a smart boy, Sam." The demon grinned at him, pushing off the Jeep and tossing over the keys. "There's a cemetery 'bout fifty miles yonder." He pointed over Sam's left shoulder. "There's a crypt there and I need you to open it for me. Sound easy enough, champ?"

"Why can't you do it yourself?"

"Would if I could, kid, but it's gotta be you. And if you're gonna open it, you're gonna need a key." He reached into his coat and pulled out a gun, holding it up to show Sam.

"That's a gun."

The demon rolled his eyes in exasperation. "It's a very _special_gun." Taking the gun by the barrel, he held it out towards Sam. "Here."

Sam reached over the outside rail and took the pistol. "Special how?"

"That, right there, is the only gun in this vast and endless universe that can kill me dead."

Sam fumbled the gun, shaking hands clutching at the carved, wooden grip the way Dean had taught him as he leveled the antique at the demon. "Then what's to stop me from shooting you right now?"

"Nothing. You could, but you won't." He stared Sam down. "You think killing me might save you? Save your family? It's the quickest way of condemning you all to the worst kind of torture Hell has to offer. Besides, do as I ask and you might get to see your dear, old, estranged dad again."

Sam didn't like any of it, didn't know what he was walking into, but he'd do it if it meant saving Ellen and Jo, saving Dean. He lowered the gun.

"Good boy."

**oxo**

When Dean finally met up with Bobby hours later, the sun had crept nearly up to it's peak in the sky. And the older hunter wasn't alone. Ellen sat in the passenger seat of Bobby's truck, gaze unfocused and aimed somewhere over Dean's shoulder. Bobby climbed from the truck and gave Ellen a brief glance before facing Dean. "Something damn near exploded the Roadhouse. Whole thing burned down."

"You think it was the demon?" Dean asked, eying Ellen.

"Pretty damn sure."

"Where's Jo? Is she okay?"

"Yeah. She's sitting tight at my place. Nowhere else is safe enough to leave her." Bobby tipped up his cap to scratch at his thinning hair. "Ellen was down at the house and Jo was out back in the shed when it happened. Nobody else was so lucky."

"Jesus Christ."

Bobby nodded. "I want to show you something." He pulled a state map from the back pocket of his jeans, unfolded it, and spread it out across the Impala's dusty trunk. "Before your daddy- When you were in the hospital, John called me. Needed me to pick up some things for him. Things he needed to summon the demon. I didn't know what he was doing at first, how summoning it could help, but..."

"I know what he did, Bobby," Dean said, voice low and strained. "But what does that have to do with Sam?"

"John had a gun. An antique Colt pistol that, according to some obscure legend your daddy dug up, could kill anything. And I mean _anything._"

"Like the demon?"

"Yeah." Bobby gave him a meaningful look then. "He gave me the file on everything he collected about it – how he'd been tracking it. Ash – may he rest in peace – was working on compiling it all onto the computer somehow. Between what we know about the gun and your daddy's research, Ash came across something interesting. Kid died working on this." Bobby tapped the map with a thick finger, drawing Dean's attention down.

Five points connected with dark lines, the pentagram standing out in stark contrast to the nothing surrounding it in the middle of Wyoming. "What am I looking at?"

"Each of these points is a church build by Samuel Colt." His finger moved to the center of the pentagram. "Somewhere in the middle is an old cowboy cemetery. There's demon activity like we've never seen all around, but not inside these lines. Ash discovered Colt built a secret railway from church to church using iron tracks-"

"He was keeping something out?"

"Looks like," Bobby nodded. "And now, I think that yellow-eyed bastard is trying to get in."

"And you think that's where Sam is going?"

"It's the best lead we've got."

Dean scoffed and folded up the map, digging his keys out of his jacket pocket. "It's the _only_ lead we've got."


	21. Chapter 21

**Title:** That Which Was Lost... [21/22]  
**Author****:** alakewood  
**Warning:** Spoilers for _AHBL._  
**Rating:** PG-13  
**Word****Count:** 1500+  
**Summary:** Dean faces off with the Yellow-Eyed Demon.  
**Disclaimer:** As always, I own nothing.  
**A/N:** Wow, you guys! I just might finish this thing before the end of the year. I've know for a while that we were getting towards the end, and it looks like the next chapter (including an epilogue) will probably be _it_. I've only been writing this story for, oh, three and a half years. :) But the end is nigh, folks - I hope you've enjoyed the ride!

**oxoxo**

The crypt was within Dean's sight when what sounded and felt like an explosion sent him to his knees as a shock wave rippled out, lightning spider-webbing across the sky in bright blue-pink veins along with a low rumble of thunder that was carried on sudden wind gusts that stunk of sulfur. In the flash of lightning, he could see something undulating on the wind – swirling black masses that moved independently of each other and with disregard to the direction of the strong breeze. Dean recognized the shadows streaming from the crypt almost immediately for what they were. Demons. Hundreds of demons were being set loose.

He climbed to his feet on the trembling ground and rushed to the opposite side of the crypt where the heavy iron doors were flung wide open. Between tall stone grave markers, he saw Sam on his knees in front of a man with jaundiced eyes, a long, precise gash across the man's forearm so deep it was flowing freely and dripping from his elbow – the blood that wasn't making it into Sam's mouth, anyway.

It made Dean's stomach turn to see it, but he didn't know how he was supposed to stop it - _any_of it – until he caught the dull gleam of the Colt protruding from the crypt door in another blaze of lightning and wrenched it free. He leveled it at the man. At the Yellow-Eyed Demon.

Above the screech of the things flooding out the doors, Dean could hear Bobby and Ellen yelling after him from across the cemetery. Their voices and arrival drew the demon's attention, yellow eyes sliding over to focus on Dean and the gun in his hands. Behind him, he could hear the other two hunters struggling to close the gate. Dean held the gun steady and slowly moved forward.

Yellow-Eyes grinned, a malicious curve of his mouth, and released Sam, let him fall into the trampled prairie grass. "Hey there, Deano," he greeted. "Quite the family reunion, isn't it?"

"You leave Sam alone," Dean spat out, moving closer.

"But I think we're still missing someone, aren't we?" the demon continued, unfazed, as if Dean hadn't said a word. "Where's little sis?" His grin widened as he tilted his head towards a low, crumbling family mausoleum off to Dean's right. Jo was pushed around the side of the moss-covered marble, hands bound behind her back by a smirking Meg.

"Long time, no see," Meg remarked, shoving Jo forward a couple more paces.

"That's just about everybody," Yellow-Eyes went on. "Except dear old dad. But he's a little...tied up at the moment."

Something about the way he said it and the curl of his mouth sent a slithering chill down Dean's spine, but he couldn't pay that much mind, not with Sam unconscious on the ground and Jo held captive by Meg. "Let her go – she's done nothing to you!"

"Give me the gun and I won't kill you all where you stand."

Dean shook his head. "No."

"You're going to sacrifice all these lives just so you can _try_to kill me first?" the demon asked, gesturing expansively. "You're just like your daddy."

Dean lowered the barrel of the gun just a shade and glanced around the small area between the crypt and the mausoleum – Sam and Jo in front of him, guarded by demons, and Bobby and Ellen behind still attempting to close the crypt's doors. In his periphery, he saw the Yellow-Eyed Demon give a short nod to Meg, then the demon in the girl-suit wrapped a hand around Jo's throat and started to squeeze.

And that was when everything started to go even further south. Ellen went running to help Jo, Bobby trailing after her, and a quick flick of Yellow-Eyes' wrist sent the Colt flying from Dean's hands. An invisible pressure forced him to his knees at the same time he saw Bobby and Ellen go down.

"Now, if you don't mind, Sam and I have somewhere to be," the Yellow-Eyed Demon said, stooping over to grab hold of one of Sam's shoulders while keeping his gaze locked on Dean. "As much as I'd like to stay and chat, we're running behind schedule."

The demon's smile faltered and, at the same time, Dean felt the force holding him immobile weaken. A shimmering form coalesced around Yellow-Eyes, flickering and stuttering like bad reception before filling in to reveal a transparent man. But not just any man.

"Dad?" Dean settled back on his heels, staring at the apparition of his father in bewilderment.

"Finish this, Dean!" John shouted, voice strained with the effort of holding back the demon. "Finish it now!"

Dean scrambled across the overgrown plots for the Colt, found a stable stance on his knees to take the shot. The sound of the blast was quickly overlapped by a frantic scream of denial from Meg as she shoved Jo to the ground and started across the clearing to where Yellow-Eyes was lit up orange from the inside like the fires of Hell were burning through his veins as he collapsed near Sam.

Above them, John's image quavered and faded, the smile on his face like an apology, gratitude, and a blessing.

Dean lowered his aim to catch Meg in his sight and fired again, watching her tumble mid-stride into the grass beside her leader. The clearing went still for a moment, the howling of the demons and whatever else were being released from the open gate painfully loud. As much as Dean wanted to rush to Sam's side, the crypt needed to be closed. He was back on his feet and shoving at one of the doors in a breath, Ellen and Bobby soon shouldering at the other door. They somehow managed to get the doors closed, the barrel of the Colt slipping into place in the center of the pentagram on the doors, a turn and a click sealing the shut again.

The cemetery fell silent, no one quite daring to move just yet, as the supernatural storm above dissipated with the departure of the last of the demons. When Dean was certain it was all over, he rushed to Sam's side, turning his brother over carefully to see how hurt he was. But aside from the blood trickling from his mouth – which Dean was fairly certain had been the demon's and not his own – Sam seemed unharmed. Dean's fingers fumbled in search of a pulse as he pulled Sam into his lap, cradling Sam's head against his shoulder as he pressed his fingertips to his bother's cold skin.

Bobby and Ellen, Jo under her arm, approached him slowly, twin distraught expressions crumbling the Harvelle women's faces. "Is he...?" Ellen began, unable to even ask, hand not gripping Jo flying to her mouth as Jo buried her face in her mother's shoulder.

Dean's questing fingers caught the flutter of Sam's weak pulse in his wrist, felt the faint, humid breaths from Sam's open mouth against his neck. "He's alive," he said, holding Sam a little closer. "Barely, but alive." He shook his head. "That son of a bitch was _bleeding_into him."

Ellen and Bobby exchanged a look over Jo's head at that telegraphed they probably knew what it meant. Instead of explaining, Bobby dropped to a knee beside Sam, reaching a hand beneath his shoulder and carefully lifting him from Dean's lap. "C'mon. Let's get him outta here."

With Bobby under one of Sam's shoulders and Dean under the other, the five of them carefully made their way out of the cemetery and across the buckled iron train tracks to where Bobby's truck was parked. "I'll come back for my car when he's conscious," Dean said, pulling down the tailgate and climbing up into the bed. "I just want to get him somewhere safe right now."

Bobby helped hoist Sam up into the back before slamming the gate shut and getting in up front, Jo squished between him and Ellen on the bench seat, and tore away from the cemetery as fast as the truck would allow.

Dean kept Sam held so close, arms folded across his brother's chest, that the way the material of his jacket bunched at his elbows made his hands go numb. He ignored the prickling tingle in favor of focusing on the warmth between them and the feel of Sam's chest rising and falling with his shallow breaths.

After nearly half an hour on the road, the sky ahead lightened from the glow of a few short rows and columns of street lamps, and Sam began to shift in Dean's lap. Dean carefully watched his face, waiting for his brother's eyes to open. When they finally did, colored dark with confusion before softening with recognition, Dean felt his whole body sag with relief. "Hey," he said, smiling down at Sam.

"Hey," Sam whispered back. "Where are we?"

"Back of Bobby's truck, heading for a motel."

Sam nodded and curled in closer to Dean's chest. "Wasn't going to do it," he mumbled, eyes drifting shut.

"Do what?"

But Sam was out again, wheezing quietly in reply.


	22. Chapter 22

**Title:** That Which Was Lost... [22/?]  
**Author****:** alakewood  
**Warnings: ** AU.  
**Rating: ** PG-13  
**Word Count:** 1500+  
**Summary:** Bobby tells Dean exactly what Azazel's plan for Sam was. Then Sam wakes up and tells Dean what he remembers.  
**Disclaimer:** As always, I own nothing.  
**A/N:** This has been done for a couple of weeks, but it was only posted in two locked entries on LJ. I'm nearing the end of this fic (for real, I _swear_), but my muse is not cooperating and, well, I know how it ends, it's just the whole getting there part that's the issue. Suddenly, in the chapter after this, Dean decides to be a bit of a jerk, but I can't really blame him. So, here's this chapter. The end is nigh.

**oxoxo**

They came around a wooded curve of the highway on the edge of the town limits, trees giving way to a rundown truck stop with blazing lights, semis at the pumps and parked in the lot, a fading hand-painted sign on the roof proclaiming 'Darla's Diner' with a red neon light in one of the broad, dusty windows flashing 'OPEN 24/7.' Across the street was a small one-story motel showing the same evidence of age and neglect as the truck stop and diner with the vacancy sign lit.

Bobby pulled off the highway onto the gravel lot of the motel, stopping in front of the door marked 'Office.' "Gonna grab us a couple rooms," Bobby said to Dean after climbing from the truck. "Be right back." As promised, he returned a couple minutes later with two room keys, passing one off to Jo and the other to Ellen before moving around to the back of the truck to help Dean with Sam.

Once inside the dim room, Dean laid a still unconscious Sam on the bed furthest from the door. Ellen hovered behind him like the concerned parent Dean realized she was and let Bobby pull him aside while Ellen moved in to take his place.

"Why don't we give 'em some time and head across the street to that diner to get us all some food, huh?" For all that it sounded like a suggestion, the pointed look on Bobby's face said otherwise.

Dean hesitated, not wanting to let Sam out of his sight ever again, but finally nodded. With Herculean effort, he turned his back on Sam, his brother and something _more_, and followed Bobby out of the room.

The diner was just what Dean expected, stale smell of old grease and diesel hanging in the air, linoleum floor scuffed and stained. The counter he and Bobby sat down at was in no better condition than the rest of the building, the formica surface worn, scarred, and sticky with the vinyl seats of the stools cracked and peeling. A lone waitress appeared out of the swinging doors to the kitchen with a large plate in her hands. She eyed the two of them, tossing, "Be right with ya," over her shoulder as she snagged the coffee pot off of its warmer and headed for the booth in the corner.

Dean flipped over the chipped mug in front of him when she returned, a silent request for coffee that she granted. She slapped a couple greasy menus onto the counterspace between him and Bobby.

Arlene, according to her crooked, pinned-on name tag, glanced at Bobby. "Get you anything to drink, hon?"

"I'm good, thanks," Bobby said, dismissing her in favor of looking over the menu.

Arlene nodded. "I'll be back in a few."

Bobby scanned the menu a couple times, turning it over in his hands before turning to Dean. "You gonna ask me or what, boy?"

Dean set his mug down. "Ask you what?"

"About Sam? About what happened tonight?"

"Honestly, Bobby? I'm not sure I _want_ to know. Sam's alive, he's gonna be okay. That's what matters. Everything else is in the past now. It's over."

"You really believe that?"

Dean was saved from answering by Arlene's reappearance. "So, what can I get ya, boys?" she asked, pencil poised above her order pad.

"Five of your short-stack meals to go."

"How do you want your eggs?"

"Scrambled."

"Toast?"

"White."

"All right, hon. I'll go put these in. Should be about ten-fifteen minutes."

"That demon," Bobby started with a whisper, leaning closer to Dean, "wasn't no ordinary demon. Azazel was charged with finding a leader for a demon army."

"Sam?"

Bobby nodded. "The house fire your mother died in, that was when Azazel first chose Sam. He made him different."

"The visions."

"Yeah. And I don't know what's going to happen to him now that Azazel's dead. You're going to have to keep an eye on him."

"What do you mean? He's going to be fine. Isn't he?"

"I think so, for now anyway. But I'm sure there's more where Azazel came from."

Dean shook his head, not liking the idea demons trying to turn Sam into something evil. He wouldn't let it happen. Sam had been through enough.

**oxo**

When they returned to the motel room, Ellen was sitting beside Sam on the edge of the mattress, fingers carding through his limp, dirty hair. His face was clean of blood and his chest rose and fell with the slow, even breaths of a deep sleep. Jo looked up from her place at the foot of the bed and gave Dean a good once-over. "Come on, Mom. Let's give Dean some space."

"I've got food," Bobby said from over Dean's shoulder, holding up a plastic bag with styrofoam containers of eggs, pancakes, and toast.

Ellen glanced up at Dean before returning her gaze to Sam and ducking down to drop a kiss on his forehead. "Yeah. Okay."

Bobby handed off a bag of two containers to Dean before steering Ellen and Jo outside and to their room next door. Dean set the bag on the table just inside the door and debated taking one of the styrofoam boxes out, but he wasn't hungry. He was just worried about Sam and the fact that he was still unconscious, asleep or maybe something else.

Dean moved to the front window, pushing aside the dingy, water-stained curtain to look outside. He wished for a bottle of whiskey as he watched the semis pulling into the truck stop across the street under a sky dark with the faintest starlight. The sunrise was only a few hours off but the night still felt never-ending. After double-checking that the door was locked, Dean kicked out of his boots and shrugged off his jacket, moving over to Sam's bed to sit beside his brother. He reached for the comforter and pulled it up around the both of them before turning off the lamp on the nightstand between the two beds. Dean curled into Sam's side and clutched his hand, fingers entwined, holding on tight even as he slowly drifted off to sleep.

**oxo**

Dean woke suddenly, transition from sleep to full alertness nearly instantaneous as Sam shifted beside him. He rubbed at his tired eyes with the knuckles of one hand as he leaned up on his elbow. "Sammy?" he whispered into the darkness. "You up?"

"Dean?" His fingers squeezed tighter around Dean's.

"Yeah. How're you feeling?" He made to reach for the light, but Sam held fast to his hand.

"Head kind of hurts yet. Can we keep the light off?"

"Yeah. Of course."

"Where are we?"

"Motel in Howes. Not far from Cold Oak." He moved closer to Sam, eyes still adjusting to the dimness of the room. "What do you remember?"

"Not much. I remember...I remember Ava killed Andy, then Jake- Jake killed Ava. He attacked me but I-"

"You don't have to tell me, Sam." Dean already knew what happened, he'd been there when Jake Talley took his last breaths. "What about after? With the demon?"

"Um." Sam's breath hitched on a sharp inhale. "He needed me to open the crypt with the gun. He said- I didn't have a choice, Dean."

"Hey. It's okay. He's dead now; I killed him."

"You- But _how_?"

"With the gun. My- Dad knew what the Colt could do. He traded it to the demon to save me. That and..."

Sam sat up and reached for Dean, palm curving around the side of his neck and pulling him in close. "I know. I'm sorry."

Dean shook his head, rested his forehead against Sam's, held tight to his shirt. "Look, it-it's fine. What else do you remember?"

"I opened the crypt...and he said- he said he had plans for me. That he was going to free an army and that- that I was supposed to lead it. But, Dean, I couldn't. I _wouldn't._ And he-"

"I saw what he did to you."

"But you stopped him. You came for me. You _saved_ me. Not just me but Jo and my- and Ellen. Hell, probably Bobby, too."

"Sam."

"I told you. Back when we were in Casper, after our first hunt? You remember what I told you?"

"What did you tell me, Sam?"

"That I could trust you, that you deserved it."

Dean sighed and shook his head again. "Sam-"

"No. I don't know what John did to you that made you think you had to be alone, that you couldn't let anybody close, but you _can_, Dean. You deserve to be happy. To be loved."

Dean shrugged. "Maybe."

"Oh, come _on!_" Sam groaned in exasperation. "I-I _love_ you and I trust you and I'm not going anywhere. You got me?" They were close enough that, even in the dark, Sam was able to find and hold Dean's gaze.

"Yeah," Dean said with a hesitant nod. "Yeah, Sammy, I got you."


	23. Chapter 23

**Title:** That Which Was Lost... [23/?]  
**Author:** alakewood  
**Warnings: ** AU. Wincest.  
**Rating:** NC-17  
**Word Count:** ~1800  
**Summary:** It's been nearly a month since Dean rescued Sam, but things are strained. Sam's reaching the end of his rope...but what happens when Dean won't acknowledge the rift that's divided them?  
**Disclaimer:** As always, I own nothing.

**oxoxo**

Sam hung up the lone cordless phone in Bobby's kitchen not labeled with masking tape as one of his various known government aliases amongst his fellow hunters and leaned up against the counter. The lights flickered again and he felt that faint buzz in his veins.

"Was that Ellen?" Dean asked, entering the kitchen as he rolled up the sleeves of his dark gray work shirt.

"Yeah. They're in Nevada still. Took out another three before they got to Carson City. She says they're headed for California next."

Dean rested a tentative hand on Sam's shoulder – it had been almost a month since Cold Oak and Dean was still keeping his distance. "That's good," he said, giving Sam a gentle squeeze before his hand fell away and he moved towards the fridge. "You hungry? I could make something."

The ache in his chest was a familiar thing those days, in the wake of Dean's avoidance. At first, he'd chalked it up to Dean giving him time to heal, to come to terms with what had happened to him and what he'd done, but now, he could tell there was more to it. Something in the cagey way Dean would look at him, fleeting glances, eyes never quite meeting. Sam couldn't take it anymore. "No, Dean, I'm not hungry. We just had lunch two hours ago." He shoved his hands through his hair, still feeling a twinge in the ribs Jake had broken. "Are we ever gonna talk about this?"

Dean pulled a bottle of beer out of the fridge and gestured to Sam with it, Sam declining with a shake of his head while he maintained his expectant stare. He shrugged and closed the door, popping the cap off with one of his rings. "Talk about what?"

"Us," Sam said, exasperated. "You and me and all of _this._" He waved a hand between them. "I thought we were...on the same page now but you won't even- You can't even look me in the eye."

Head down, Dean dragged his teeth over his bottom lip and gave a little helpless shrug of his shoulders. "What do you want me to say, Sam?"

That was it. Sam had had enough. He felt like they were going in the same circles over and over and he was done, was ready to move on. Even if Dean wasn't willing to go with him, and his heart thudded painfully in his chest at the thought but he couldn't do _this_ any longer. "Nothing, Dean," he said wearily, dropping his hands to his sides in defeat. "Just forget it." Swallowing hard, he watched Dean for a moment longer, then backed out of the kitchen. He headed upstairs slowly, listening to the sounds of Dean moving around in the kitchen.

Sam had more to pack than he was expecting, books and clothes strewn about his borrowed room that Ellen had brought back after a trip she and Jo had taken home before they set out after the demons that had escaped from the gate. It gave him something to do to keep his hands busy while he tried to think of where he would go next. He was so lost in thought he didn't hear the creak of the floorboards in the hallway until Dean was outside his door. "What are you doing?" Dean asked, baffled gaze glued to Sam's hands as they pushed a hastily folded pair of jeans into one of his duffels.

"What does it look like I'm doing? I'm tired of waiting for something to happen here and you've made it pretty clear that nothing ever is. So I'm just gonna go. It's obvious that whatever we had- It wasn't meant to last." He pushed another shirt into his bag and zipped it closed before scanning the room to make sure he hadn't missed anything. Confident that he'd removed every trace of himself, Sam slung the straps of both his duffels over his good shoulder and avoided Dean's gaze as he made his way for the door.

Dean backed away wordlessly, letting Sam pass, but followed him closely down the stairs. His voice was rough when he finally spoke as Sam stopped to gather his jacket off the wobbly coat rack near the entryway. "So, uh, where are you going?"

"I don't know." Sam turned his gaze back to Dean, noted the flush of color high on his cheeks and the quickened pace of his breath. "Does it matter?" They stared at each other as Sam's heart stuttered a few shaky beats in his chest and it felt like he was losing everything. He opened the door without breaking eye contact and hoped Dean would just _say_ something. When it became clear he wasn't, Sam nodded. "Goodbye, Dean."

Halfway down the porch stairs, Dean called out to him, voice wrecked. "Sam!"

Sam stopped but didn't turn around. This time it would be up to Dean to do something. _His_ chance to attempt to salvage what Sam had failed to.

"Don't, Sam," Dean said from only a few short feet away. "Just...don't go."

"Why not?"

"Because I'm asking you to stay." There was a soft shuffling of Dean's socked feet through the grass as he moved closer. "Please."

Sam turned then. "Why? You hardly ever touch me, you can barely even _look_at me, even now. Why should I stay?"

After a long, trepid pause, Dean finally whispered, "Because I want you to." He took a deep, audible breath and lifted his gaze to Sam's. "Look...I- I don't know what I'm doing here, Sam. I just- I'm not good at this. Everybody leaves and..." Licking his lips, he swallowed hard, keeping his eyes trained on Sam's. "I know you're gonna leave, too, but- Not yet, Sam. Please."

Sam held Dean's stare for a moment longer before dropping his bags to the ground and gripping the front of Dean's shirt in both his hands. "You're such a fucking _idiot_ sometimes." He crushed his mouth to Dean's, edges of his teeth cutting into the inside of his own lips with the force of it, nose bent in an awkward angle against Dean's cheek. "What did I say to you, Dean? Huh? In that hotel room I _told_ you. I love you, I trust you, and I'm not going anywhere – not if you don't want me to. Okay?"

Dean pressed his forehead against Sam's and nodded, his own hands clutching the hem of Sam's shirt at his sides.

Sam gave him a shake, fist curled tight in worn-thin cotton. "_Okay?_"

"Yeah, Sam. Okay."

"Okay." He kissed Dean again, slower, mouth open, tongue gently teasing the seam of Dean's lips until they parted to let him in and lick the taste of cheap beer from behind his teeth. "Such an idiot," he breathed into Dean's mouth, pushing him back towards the house.

"Sorry," Dean whispered back, one hand skimming up Sam's side while the other moved up to tangle in his hair and hold him closer. "I'm sorry."

"Should be, jerk."

"Bitch," Dean retaliated affectionately as they almost fell, stumbling up the porch stairs, but Sam righted them, propelled Dean through the open door and into the entryway.

"I'll show you _bitch,_" Sam said, manhandling Dean towards the stairs, pulling at his shirt. They collapsed in a half-naked pile at the second floor landing, Dean caught up by the restrictive bunch of denim around his thighs. "C'mon, Dean," Sam laughed, extracting himself and offering Dean a hand. "The floor's a bit uncomfortable for what I want to do to you."

"Christ, Sammy." Dean levered himself to his feet with Sam's help and tugged Sam after him into the room he'd only minutes before vacated. He pulled Sam's shirt over his head, pushed at his jeans, hands everywhere in his frantic need to get them both undressed. "Promise me," he begged as Sam nudged him down onto the narrow twin bed that barely contained either of them alone.

Sam didn't hesitate. "Anything." He kicked out of his boots, jeans following, and finished ridding Dean of his clothes. "I promise." He settled himself between Dean's spread thighs and rocked down as Dean thrust up to meet him.

The tips of Dean's fingers dug bruisingly hard into the firm muscle of Sam's ass, holding him near. "Promise you won't leave."

Sam blamed the beseeching tone on the alcohol Dean had been drowning himself in fairly regularly since they'd been reunited. "I promise," he repeated. "I'm not going anywhere." Hips grinding down against Dean's to make his point, Sam caught Dean's mouth in another desperate kiss.

Dean arched up into the contact, moaning Sam's name, before slipping a hand between their bodies, fingers curling around his and Sam's precome-slick erections. "Oh- oh, fuck."

"Shit, Dean. Yeah." Sam thrust hard into the firm grip of Dean's hand – it had been too long since they'd been together and he wasn't going to last long. He buried his face in Dean's neck, biting and sucking at the thin skin of his throat tasting salt and Dean.

Dean splayed his legs wider, knees bent up, cradling Sam's hips. "C'mon, Sammy. C'mon. Come for me." He let go of himself to work Sam's cock in his fist, pumping once, twice, rough callus on the inside of his index finger catching that sensitive bundle of nerves on the underside of the flared head of Sam's dick. It was enough to send Sam over the edge, spilling hot and wet over Dean's fist and cock. Dean stroked him through his orgasm before taking himself back in hand, using Sam's come to slick the way.

Sam's hand joined Dean's, a few good strokes and a slow, filthy kiss had him tensing beneath Sam, coming between them in thick pulses. "Not going anywhere," Sam reminded, collapsing half on top of Dean near the edge of the mattress, one arm thrown over Dean's stomach in the sticky, drying mess of their come, one leg wedged between both of Dean's.

Dean managed to pull the sheet up over them and held Sam close as their heartbeats slowed.

Sam felt Dean drift off after a while, even though it wasn't all that late and regardless of their post-sex state. The itch of drying sweat and come was hard to ignore but, at that moment, Sam didn't want to move – not even for a quick clean up. He pressed his nose to Dean's throat and breathed him in, then let himself follow Dean down into sleep.


	24. Chapter 24

**Title: **That Which Was Lost... [24/24]  
**Author:** alakewood  
**Warnings: **AU. Light Wincest. Spoilers for _The Magnificent Seven._  
**Rating: **PG-13  
**Word Count: **1200+  
**Summary: **Sam and Dean spend their last day at Bobby's before heading out to get Sam better acquainted with the job. Then they're off to meet up with Bobby in Chicago for their first of (hopefully) a lifetime of hunts together.  
**Disclaimer: **As always, I own nothing.

**oxoxo**

The faint, warm light of sunrise was bleeding through the thin curtains in their room when Dean woke the following morning, Sam sprawled across his chest, both of them tangled in disheveled bedsheets. It took careful maneuvering to get himself out from under Sam's weight, skin peeling apart from the stick of sweat and sex. Sam stirred regardless, hands clutching at Dean as he grumbled sleepily. "Where you goin'?"

"Gonna take a shower," Dean said, "start a load of laundry, and maybe make breakfast. We should probably head out sometime today."

Sam nodded into the mattress, eyes still closed, fingers wrapped loosely around Dean's wrist, hair mussed and tangled. "Wake me up when there's food."

Dean watched Sam for a moment longer, feeling a weight lifted from his back, easing the tension in his shoulders. In the dim light of morning, the curl of Sam's fingers against his skin and over his steady pulse, he knew everything would be okay. "Sure thing, Sammy." He pulled his hand away from Sam's and pushed his brother's hair out of his face before climbing out of bed and picking up his discarded clothes from the night before, stepping into his boxer-briefs and pulling them up as Sam started to snore quietly. He picked up the rest of their clothes and grabbed his duffel of laundry from his own room, then headed downstairs. Laundry, breakfast, then a shower, he figured as he pulled on a pair of semi-clean sweats, half tempted to try convincing Sam to join him. The risk of not leaving the house seemed almost worth it.

Sam's bags were still out in the yard, abandoned in the heat of the moment, damp with dew when Dean retrieved them as the sky to the east brightened to a hazy pink-orange that chased away the gray-blue of the fading night. He wasn't sure what in Sam's bag of clothes was clean or dirty so he just combined everything into one basket, tossing their jeans and Sam's hoodies in one load and saving their shirts, socks, and underwear for another.

It was a ridiculously domestic feeling, whisking together a half-dozen eggs into a large bowl with a tarnished silver fork as a full load of laundry spun loudly in the slightly off-kilter washing machine in the next room. Fatty strips of bacon sizzled in the pan on the back burner as Dean poured the eggs into the larger skillet on the front burner. "Sammy!" he hollered, pushing the thickening eggs around with a spatula. "Breakfast!"

The floorboards above the kitchen creaked after a minute or so with Sam's shuffling steps as he gathered the clothes Dean had left for him at the foot of the bed before heading downstairs. Sam stumbled in still half-asleep and sat heavily in one of the chairs at the table by the window.

Dean laughed to himself, shaking his head as Sam folded his arms on top of the table and nearly fell back asleep right there. "Hey! I thought you wanted food?"

"Mm," Sam grunted, eyes closed.

"You're hopeless," Dean said fondly, reaching for the plates on the counter and dishing up Sam's breakfast. "You want toast?"

Sam sat up as his plate was set in front of him. "Sure." He took his fork from Dean and grabbed a hold of his hand before he could get too far away.

"What?" Dean asked, turning around.

With a tug of his hand, Sam pulled Dean closer before reaching up to palm palm his neck, fingernails scratching lightly through the short hairs at Dean's nape to bring him down for a kiss. "Good morning."

Dean couldn't help smiling into the kiss, still feeling utterly domestic. As nice as it was, he couldn't wait to get back out on the road with Sam. "Good morning, you big girl."

Sam was grinning stupidly as Dean pulled away. "Love you, too, man." His smile faded and a flush rose to his cheeks as he realized what he'd said. "That's not- Dean, I-"

"Yeah, I know what you meant," Dean said, laughing. "You big girl."

Shaking his head, Sam started tucking into his breakfast. "Shut up and make me some toast, jerk."

**oxo**

_Epilogue_

Sam and Dean kept in touch with Bobby when they took to the road, Dean finding easier hunts to get Sam ready for dealing with the demons that Dean had set loose when he'd opened the gate. It turned out they didn't have much time to get prepared – only a few weeks after they'd been on the road, Bobby called with reports of demonic omens near Chicago.

Sam spent most of his time riding shotgun studying the journal John had left behind and learning Latin, memorizing the Rituale Romanum, and drawing devil's traps based on the Key of Solomon. They'd drive all day, Sam with his nose buried in one book or another or the journal while Dean sang along to his mullet rock blaring loud enough to be heard over the wind rushing in the open windows, and they'd spend their nights in no-star pay-by-the-hour-or-week motels, wrapped around each other after greasy diner meals and bad horror movies or various police procedural reruns.

They'd fallen into an easy routine in the short time it took for them to be called into the fight by Bobby. Whatever was going down in Chicago seemed to be big, more than just a demon or two, and that made the job that much more dangerous.

Dean quizzed Sam ceaselessly during the drive from Kansas City until Sam, in a fit of frustration forced Dean to pull over along the side of highway 36 just outside of Atwood, Illinois. Shutting Dean up was easy enough, tongue in his mouth and a hand down his pants. Dean accused him of fighting dirty but quit his excessive questioning.

However, Dean was back to wary and nervous when they met up with Bobby three hours later in Oak Park outside an old farmhouse. "Are you sure you're ready for this?" Dean asked, cutting off Sammy Hagar mid-wail when he turned back the key in the ignition.

"Ready as I'll ever be," Sam answered, opening his door and heading around to the trunk.

"I'm serious, Sam," Dean said, eying Bobby as the man climbed out of his own car closer to the house with a nod at the both of them.

"So am I."

Dean huffed a sigh and opened the trunk, passing Sam gun and a flash of holy water. "You've gotta be careful, okay, Sammy? _We_'ve gotta be careful."

"And we will be," Sam said, shoving the flask into a pocket and checking the magazine in his Taurus. "I've got your back and you've got mine; I trust you."

"I know." Dean shoved his Colt into his waistband and handed Sam another magazine. "I trust you, too. I just-"

Sam pressed a hand to Dean's chest, palm over his heart. "I know." His fingers curled just the slightest bit before his hand fell away. "Now, come on. We've got work to do."

Dean gave Sam the smallest smile with a shake of his head. "Yeah, we do." Then he slammed the trunk lid closed and followed Sam across the tall grass of the neglected yard to where Bobby stood near the uneven porch.

They had plenty of work to do – it wasn't a lie – with hundreds of demons or more to hunt down, not to mention their _usual_jobs. But Dean was looking forward to it, Sam at his side.

Their life together was just starting and Dean couldn't wait.

**oxoxo**

**Author's Final Note:** Wow, guys! That is _it_. It's only been, what? Nearly four years? Thanks for sticking with me through this.

And while I love this fic to death and I'm so glad it's finally finished, I think there's still some work that can be done to it. A good half of the fic has already be beta'd, but there are a few overall cohesive things to be worked out as far as the way the story flowed. So, if you're interested on checking in on the fully polished fic (whenever that may be), feel free to keep an eye on my LJ.

But I can't stress enough how thankful I am to you guys that have read and reviewed since this thing started way back in '08 - thanks for putting up with me and the not always punctual posting of chapters, and for sticking with me until the end.

**THANK YOU!**

- alakewood  



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